The Happy Ending Stealers
by AMarguerite
Summary: Some authors of Les Mis and Phantom of the Opera fanfics don't seem to care for Cosette and Raoul, and so eliminate said characters in a nefarious manner. What will happen when Marius and Christine figure out what's going on? Or will they? COMPLETE!
1. Prolouge and Author's Note

_ A/N: Okay, this was inspired by all the anti- Raoul and anti- Cosette fics out there. I mean seriously, when I typed in 'Cosette' in the search button, more then half of 'em were about Eponine and how much better she is then Cosette. And when I typed in 'Raoul'... most of the ones with Raoul in the summary had the word 'anti' or the words 'I hate' or 'Don't read if you like' before the poor boy's name. So am I bitter about the destruction and hatred of two of my favorite characters of all time? Yeah. (I actually do like the characters of Erik and Eponine... just not the OOC way a lot of people portray them.) So if you don't like Cosette or Raoul, don't read. I don't read the ones that trash their innocent characters.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything I write about except for the plot. If I actually owned the characters, I'd sue all the Raoul and Cosette bashers out there.

* * *

_  
  
Once upon a time there was a sweet, beautiful, and innocent girl (who was, quite remarkably, sane) who grew up in a convent and was always kind to everyone. She had a tendency to daydream, and fell in love with a young student she had seen in a garden. However, this story does not really concern her.  
  
It concerns a filthy and disgusting gamine with slight problems with sanity and had suicidal tendencies who tried to get the first girl's boyfriend killed.  
  
Once (again) upon a time there was a kind, handsome, and sane Vicomte who enjoyed swimming and fetching things. He became a patron of the Opera Populaire (in some versions) after being a sailor for a while, and fell in love with an opera singer who he had met and spent a summer with when they were both younger. However, this story doesn't really concern him either.  
  
It concerns the crazy genius who lived in the Opera, who tried to kill him, pretty much killed his brother, and who kidnapped the Vicomte's girlfriend and tried to force said opera singer to marry him against her will.  
  
Well, it turns out that the masses adore the crazy, dark, and suicidal ones with obsessive- compulsive tendencies and so completely ignored the kind and brightly happy characters that actually end up the victor in the love triangle.  
  
So Cosette (the name of the sane and gentle girl) and Raoul (the name of the sane and gentle guy) were kidnapped, gagged and bound, and slammed into a broom closet.  
  
While this was going on, various fan- fic authoresses distorted the tragic figures of Eponine (the crazy girl) and Erik (the crazy man) and set them up with the various objects of affection.  
  
In Eponine's case, there was the cutely befuddled penniless student Marius, and in Erik's case, there was the (also cutely befuddled) talented soprano Christine.  
  
The authoresses congratulated themselves on such an obvious solution: giving happy endings to the people who did not originally have happy endings and incarcerating the people who originally had had the happy endings. But they didn't count on Marius and Christine realizing that something was wrong.... 


	2. Chapter the First

Marius strolled home from his law firm to his grandfather's house, whistling as he walked. En route there, there was a flash of light, a shrill soprano scream, and for a moment, the ground shook.  
  
Marius fell over, and sat a moment, absolutely confused about what had just happened. He quickly figured out that the best idea was to go see his beloved wife Cosette and make sure she was all right. With that decided, Marius dashed home and flung open the door.  
  
He was a bit surprised to find everything in order.  
  
"Cosette?" he called. "Are you all right, chérie?"  
  
"Cosette?" croaked a familiar voice. "What do you mean Cosette? You married me!" With that, Eponine, in one of Cosette's dresses, strode triumphantly out of the shadows.  
  
Marius fell over again. "I did no such thing! Besides, you're dead! I saw you die!"  
  
Eponine paused a moment, trying to figure out how this was possible. "That. Well, I'm not actually, dead, see? Joly managed to help me out, so I wasn't actually dead! And you won your revolution."  
  
Marius shook his head. "It was an insurrection. And someone definitely died in my arms! I would remember!"  
  
Eponine considered this a moment.  
  
"Oh! You must mean Cosette, who died! She ran out to the barricade, was tragically shot in my place, and then after grieving for two seconds, you recovered and the students won their revolution! Then I was there to comfort you, we fell in love, and got married!"  
  
"What!" Marius cried in shock. "I did no such thing! I love Cosette!"  
  
"No you don't!" Eponine hissed. "You love me!"  
  
"I'm dreaming," Marius muttered, getting up and pacing. "This is all just one big nightmare, and when I wake up, Cosette will be right next to me and will tell me everything's all right... you were just dreaming Marius, and I love you, and we'll be together every day...."  
  
"No, that's what I tell you! I sing the song!"  
  
"No... Cosette definitely sings it." Marius paused and a laptop barely missed his head. Our favorite dolt of a lawyer was busy thinking, and didn't notice.  
  
Eponine, seeing the love of her life (who could care less about her) think about the woman he actually married, was very confused. "Yes... Cosette sings it... and I sing a song about being alone, right?" A laptop was dropped on her head and she fell, unconscious, to the floor.  
  
Marius still did not notice. "Yes... and then Cosette and I sing about songs, and love, and hearts in her garden, while you sing in counterpoint about how miserable you are...." He looked around a moment. "Uh... Eponine? Where did you go?"  
  
Eponine vaguely mumbled something about rain and flowers. Marius blinked a moment then said: "Right then. Something is definitely wrong."  
  
Eponine struggled off the floor and grinned. Marius, refusing to look at her, wondered if she still had teeth missing. "Yes, there is! You've come home, yet you haven't kissed me."   
  
Marius was horrified. "But then I'd be unfaithful to Cosette!" He began pacing again. A keyboard and a notebook with a glittery cover fell to the ground where he had been standing. "No, no... something is really quite wrong. Am I dreaming? What should I do to make sure I'm not?"  
  
Eponine batted her eyelashes in what the authoress must have thought was an appealing way. Instead, it looked as if something large was stuck in her eyes and she was about to keel over and die. "We... could kiss, my love muffin."  
  
"Love muffin?" Marius repeated, horrified. "No, no, no that will not do! That would not do at all!"  
  
"Yes it will!" Eponine shrieked. "It will do very well, thank you!"  
  
"No... it really will not!" Marius shook his head. "This is very, very strange...."  
  
"But you have to love me!" Eponine cried desperately. "Cosette's run off with Grantaire, so in the midst of your sorrow, you've turned to your beloved Eponine, who you love so well! Besides... that little," and here follow several words which would have made your eyes bleed, "Cosette was stupid and never really loved you to begin with! She was using you!"  
  
"Now that doesn't make sense," Marius pointed out logically. "I didn't really understand a word of it... and Cosette would never act that way!"  
  
Eponine screamed, and attempted to faint into Marius's arms. However, she missed, and her head made a loud cracking sound on the floor.  
  
Marius stopped again, this time, a computer keyboard and monitor slamming into the ground in front of him. Again, he was lost in thought and failed to notice. "Eponine... they did something to your character, didn't they? You used to be more insane and less coherent."  
  
"Isn't this an improvement?!" Eponine shrilled, sitting up and rubbing her head wrathfully. "Aren't I more beautiful and alluring now!? Don't you want to stalk me and write poetry to me and marry me?!"  
  
Marius slumped down in a chair. Several printers and print- outs littered the floor around the chair. "No... not really. I love Cosette too much... ah... I'm lost until she's found!"  
  
"How do you even know she's missing?" Eponine sulked. "She might be dead."  
  
"If she was dead," Marius pointed out, fully in 'Lawyer- boy' mode, "and I could not find her body, she would still be missing."  
  
Eponine turned an interesting shade of purple... somewhere between puce and magenta. Is puce even a variation of purple? The world might never know.  
  
"That is a very interesting shade of purple," Marius observed. "I'd call it puce, but I don't know if it's even a variation of purple. Cosette would... know... if she was here...." He slumped down further into his seat and pulled his hat around his ears, causing several notebooks filled with angst ridden song fics to bounce off his head onto the ground. "Ah...."  
  
"Stop moping!" Eponine wailed. "I'm not dead! You're married to me! You should be insanely happy and wear bright colors!"  
  
"But I like black," Marius protested. "Besides... I don't have any bright clothes. Cosette was trying to convince me to buy some... alas... Cosette...."  
  
"Stop moping about Cosette! Can't you mope about me for once? Even after I... died... you forgot me...." Eponine paused. "I died?" She thought hard for a moment. "So sorry Monsieur Marius, for I moment there, I was acting like one of them rich ladies raised in convents, weren't I?" She laughed. "How funny!"  
  
A flat-screened computer fell on her head and she passed out. Marius finally noticed what had happened, and bolted out of his chair (being narrowly missed by a barrage of palm pilots). "That's it! Teenage girls in another world are making us act other then ourselves by dropping paper and... these metal... wooden... ah... square-ish type things on our heads!"  
  
"Boy! Be quiet down there or I'll hit you with my cane!" raged Monsieur Gillenormand from upstairs. 


	3. Chapter the Second

Christine was very cheerful. After moving far away from France with Mama Valerius and Raoul, marrying Raoul, and finally getting over her fear of the night, she could finally move on with her life, and she was very happy. Things were generally looking up for her. So as she strolled about her husband's estate, humming one of her favorite pieces of music, the last thing she was expecting was a rip in the time- space continuum.

Yet happen, it did. There was a crash of lighting, and what sounded like Raoul swearing muffledly. There were sounds of a struggle, and, as Christine ran back to the chateau, the earth began to shake. She tumbled over, and, after managing to stand up and to smooth out her skirts, she found herself in her dressing room back at the old Opera house.

Utterly confused, she sat down in front of her vanity table. Where was Raoul? Where did their house go? And why in the world was she at an Opera house that she never intended to return to ever again?

The question was soon answered when Erik burst through the mirror and announced: "Christine- I'm so glad you've left that insolent boy… that slave to fashion… to come and live with me. To marry me."

Christine fell out of her chair. "What?"

Erik smiled at her. "Yes… we will give each other our hands in marriage, and we will live in my realm of music by the shore of the lake underneath the Opera."

"I don't want your hand in marriage!" Christine said wildly. "Your hands smell like death!"

Erik frowned. "Ah…."

"Besides, I'm already married!" Christine continued on, hunching over her dressing table unhappily.

Erik's frown deepened. "You most certainly are not. I know you were 'secretly' engaged to that nasty boy (never mind that I had originally given you my permission)… that Vicomte but that is no more! I have forced you to stay behind and to marry me so that he can go free. He's probably somewhere in the North Pole around now."

Christine stared in shock at the phantom. "But doesn't that corrupt your character and your final, melancholy acceptance that you can't force someone to love you, thereby ruining the moral of the story?"

Erik nodded. "Most likely." A computer fell on top of his head and he yelped in pain.

"Erik?" Christine asked, in consternation, "Are you all right?"

The phantom shook his head and then nodded.

Christine paused a moment, baffled by this. "Was that a yes or a no?"

"It was a yes," the phantom continued on calmly. "I am all right as long as you are with me. Come! Let us be married at once!"

"But I'm all ready married," Christine repeated calmly, deciding that she had hit her head when the ground had shook and she was dreaming.

Erik thought about this a moment, and many sheets of loose- leaf paper cascaded onto his head, until he was nearly buried.

_ 'This is a very interesting dream_,' Christine thought idly.

At last, Erik pushed his way out of the papers, brushed off his cloak, and straightened his mask. "How silly of me. I apologize, my dear Christine. Of course… after marrying that 'brave young suitor' who basked in my triumph, you discovered that he was actually an abusive alcoholic who forced you to quit singing, separated you from all your friends and family, and was generally… not nice. So you decided to come back to your beloved Angel of Music, by swimming across the lake, and then you nearly drown because it is a well- known fact that you can't swim, and I nurse you back to health."

Christine was speechless. Well… for a while. "You must be crazier then usual, Erik… I love Raoul, and Raoul loves me! He would never do anything to hurt me… and… to think… he'd make me quit singing… he'd never do that! He loves hearing me sing!"

"I love hearing you sing too," Erik muttered petulantly, like a small child being told that no, it was not a good idea to set fire to small woodland creatures. Some small children are like that.

"Now really! It's not like I'm telling you to stop setting fire to small woodland creatures or anything… I am just stating a simple fact: Raoul loves me, and would never, ever do anything to intentionally make me unhappy." Christine nodded firmly and stood. Her chair was then hit with a complete Dell computer. "And I don't ever even **attempt** swim. If you knew **anything** about me, it would be that I don't swim. I didn't even swim out to go get my favorite scarf when it blew away. Raoul had to go and get it for me."

Erik blinked a moment, as if he was coming out of a trance. "Ah… are you… I mean… then you must be revisiting… your past without Raoul… and you've succumbed to my powers… and since you never married that stupid… foppish… Vicomte… you decided to marry me." The Phantom looked confused. Then a leather- bound notebook hit him in the face, and he looked deader then usual.

Christine was beginning to feel as if she **wasn't** dreaming. She sang a few notes experimentally, just to see if she was awake. She didn't know how that might work, but it was a good a plan as any.

The Phantom of the Opera brightened. "Yes! We'll sing until we swoon with delight! Sing for me… your Angel of Music!"

"But you're not!" Christine protested, really afraid that she **was** awake. "You're some scarily ugly man with glow- in- the dark eyes, hands that smell like death, and a tendency to kill people who displease you! And you're around **thirty years** older then me or so!"

"But I'm also a talented musical genius who would make you a queen… a perfect Opera star! I'd be kind, and sweet and loving… gentle as a lamb. And that great booby Raoul will never bother us again… and you'll hear my wedding mass! It's really very pretty."

"But you pitch a fit every time the management doesn't give you your way, and I'm afraid you'd end up killing me in that scary torture chamber of yours!" Christine backed up against the door, and the door knob bumped painfully into her back. Alas, she really was not dreaming.

Erik paused a moment. "But… you love me! You must love me! You have to love me! I'll… oh! I've got a mask that can make me look normal! We can go walking out in the park on Sundays, and people won't scream in fear! And I promise I won't laugh manically too much of the time…." Erik approached her and knelt in front of her. "Say you'll share with me one love… one life time…."

Christine racked her brains for something to do in the face of all this. She decided to faint. And so she did.


	4. Chapter the Third

When Cosette woke up, her head hurt quite a bit. It was also very difficult for her to move. She soon discovered why when she tried to stand up and fell over.

Her hands had been tied behind her back, and her fashionable white leather boots had been laced together. Also, she had been gagged and her skirt had tied up around her knees. No wonder it was hard to move.

'_This is most infuriating_,' Cosette thought. '_I wonder what happened_.'

After moment, she looked around the place where she was sitting, and discovered many cleaning appliances littering the floor and leaning against the walls.

'_Why am I in a broom closet_?' she wondered. '_And where is Marius_?'

Then, she realized, '_Hey. I'm apparently locked up in a broom cabinet, with no perceptible way to escape. This reminds me of the time I was with the Thenardiers... ah! Repressed memories_!'

So Cosette began screaming, as repressed memories began surfacing, and it seemed very clear that someone didn't want her around… again.

'_It's very interesting how loudly I can still scream even though I'm gagged_,' Cosette thought idly, as she continued to scream.

A few moments after she had begun to scream, a dark figure that Cosette had assumed to be a pile of rags sat up and tried to say something.

Cosette stopped screaming enough to determine that the figure was male. So, she said, "Ah- e- us?" (Basically, "Marius?")

"Is- ine?" the figure asked hopefully. ("Christine?" as best the narrator can determine.)

"Oh. I ah… I ang alled Oh- ette," Cosette managed to say with much difficulty. Then she managed to convey (by jerking her head around rather painfully) that she'd help him out of his bonds if he would be so kind as to untie her hands. ("Oh. I am… (here she pauses for breath) I am called Cosette."

The figure managed to inch over to her (with, again, much difficulty, as various pieces of cleaning equipment kept falling on him) and said (muffledly), "I ame eee Aou…" ("I am Raoul.")

With that, he managed to get behind her and attempted to untie the ropes around her wrists.

"Ah oo aaah ight?" Cosette asked. "Oo ooou nee mmmee o oo anyting ow?"

That roughly translates to: "Are you all right? Do you need me to do anything?"

"No," he mumbled through the gag. "Mutt, iii ou ould unie ee ater, at old ee ery ice. I am ah ailor, o ee notttss ahn oar ists ahn't oo ifficul."

("No. But, if you could untie me later, that would be very nice. I am a sailor, so the knots on your wrists aren't too difficult.")

The ropes slid off Cosette's wrists, and she pulled the gag out of her mouth. She then crawled around to the sailor… Ahoul… Daoul, most likely… and untied his wrists.

"Merci, monsieur," Cosette murmured, as Daoul or Maoul or whatever his name was rubbed his wrists and spat out his gag. The spitting not working too well, he decided to pull the gag out of his mouth with his hands.

"No problem mademoiselle," he replied courteously. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

Cosette shrugged delicately and worked on untangling her new pink dress from around her knees. She was most vexed that on the day that she was going to wear her prettiest new dress for Marius she got bound and gagged and thrown into a broom closet with an unknown man for no apparent reason, probably getting dust all over it. The dress, that is, in case you've forgotten the actual subject of the previous sentence. "I know we are in a broom closet, monsieur… Ahoul… umm…."

"Raoul," Raoul corrected. "Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. And you?"

"Baroness Cosette Pontmercy," she murmured airily, absorbed in untangling the mess her captors had made of the laces on her boots.

The Vicomte busied himself with his shoes and various bonds until he was able to stand. He then gallantly extended his hand to help Cosette up, and she stood.

"Well… how do we get out?" Raoul wondered aloud, at last.

Cosette jiggled the handle of the door and was not surprised to see that it was locked. "Not through the door, monsieur. And there aren't any windows…."

"This might work…" Raoul muttered after a moment. With that, he motioned for Cosette to stand back (as she did) and ran into the door. He bounced off and fell to the floor.

"Monsieur le Vicomte?" Cosette asked with concern, "Are you all right?"

"Not really," he said, after a moment. "My shoulder really hurts."

Cosette nodded. "Not surprising, considering you ran into the door knob."

Raoul winced as he sat up. Cosette flew to his side and propped him up.

"Well… it appears we are stuck here for a while, monsieur," Cosette remarked. "What should we do?"

Raoul frowned and examined his surroundings a moment. "I'll bang on the door with a broom to see if I can break it down. Perhaps this is a huge misunderstanding and they have put us in here by accident. If they had planned it like this, then I still might be able to get us out." He paused and bit his lower lip. "Whatever happens, I have to find my wife… Christine. I'm worried about her."

"And I my husband, Marius," Cosette agreed. "I hope that they are not kept as prisoners here as well."

Raoul nodded and whacked at the door with the broom. The door swung open to reveal a girl in a half- mask and very tattered clothing who was smirking at them.

"Hello," she said in a sinister tone of voice. "It would seem you'd like new accommodations. We assure you… they will be provided."

* * *

I must apologise to the readers of my story, as I will be gone for the next ten days, and unable to update. As soon as I get back though, I'll post another chapter! 


	5. Chapter the Fourth

Marius sat pensively in his favorite armchair. Occasionally, he would lean to the side to avoid being hit with bad faux- angsty fics with a decisive lack of cohesive grammar.  
  
"Well... now I know what is going on," he mused, absently pulling several sheets of scribbled- on notebook paper from on top of his hat. "But why? And where is Cosette?"  
  
Eponine, lounging on the settee, pouted prettily. Marius, personally, found it a tad appalling.  
  
"Oh, Marius, you are being awfully mean to me. Don't you love me?"  
  
Marius heaved a sigh and shook several pencils off the brim of his hat. "No, not really."  
  
Eponine gave an indignant sniff and looked up to the ceiling for guidance. An author, helpfully masquerading as a spit- wad (Marius briefly wondered why there was a spit- wad on the ceiling of his library but then decided that there were more important things to think about), whispered something to her.  
  
Two palm pilots fell from the ceiling onto Eponine's head, and she brightened. "That's a fantastic idea!"  
  
With that, the room dissolved, and Marius was surprised to find himself in le Café Musain. He was apparently in the middle of a meeting of L' Amis D'ABC.  
  
"Um..." Marius said in confusion. "Wasn't I... just... at... home?"  
  
Enjolras, in the middle of a fiery oration on the new republic, froze. "Home... yes, yes... good point, Marius. Without our revolution, the poor of Paris live in hovels so destitute and miserable; you wouldn't consider it fit for a dog to sleep in. This is why we must fight my friends! Fight for les miserables, the miserable, the oppressed and downtrodden of Paris!"  
  
Marius blinked. "Ah... aren't you dead?"  
  
Enjolras didn't hear him, or if he did, chose to ignore him. "Who will fight with me?" He suddenly climbed on top of a table and began to sing. "Do you hear the people sing?"  
  
"You're the only one singing, Enjolras," Combeferre pointed out pragmatically.  
  
Enjolras ignored him as well. "Singing the song of angry men? It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again! When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!"  
  
"What drums?" Marius asked blankly.  
  
Enjolras shot him a glare he normally favored Grantaire with. Marius shrank in his seat and busied himself with attempts at figuring out what in the world was going on.  
  
"Oh help!" a female voice cried suddenly. "Alas, alack, and woe! Help me, someone!"  
  
Enjolras frowned. "Marius, go help her. I'm trying to finish my song, and you don't sing in it."  
  
"What?" Marius asked in confusion.  
  
"Ah! Fearless Leader!" Grantaire called out. "Guess how much I've had to drink!"  
  
"Shut up, fool!" Enjolras snapped. "You tarnish the glory of the new republic. You are nothing but a stain in the white robes of liberty!"  
  
"Yeah... well... I love ya man! Gimme a hug!" Grantaire lurched to his feet and teetered unsteadily around the room. "He he. There's a pink elephant behind you, Enjolras."  
  
"You inebriate," Enjolras said witheringly.  
  
"Let's not resort to name- calling," Combeferre advised. "It's not all fun and games... someone could get a complex and be forced to suffer from mental problems... no, no, the result far outweighs anything else. Let's stop now- it's not at all amusing."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Courfeyrac retorted, leaning back in his seat. "I think it's funny."  
  
Bahorel pounded on the ground with his table... yes, he actually picked up the table. "Hear, hear!"  
  
"You can use words much better then taking them and turning them into insults," Jehan added quietly.  
  
"Shut up," Bahorel said bluntly. "I dislike you intensely."  
  
"Hey!" Feuilly cried, aggravated. "What about Poland?"  
  
"No one cares!" Courfeyrac snapped. "Be quiet, for once, you stupid fan- maker."  
  
Feuilly's eyes narrowed. "Don't. Insult. Poland."

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. "Make me."

"Why can't we all learn to accept each others differences?" Combeferre sighed, patting a weeping Jehan on the back.  
  
"Poland cannot stand these insults!" Feuilly yelled as Joly gave a strangled scream and quickly examined his tongue in his hand mirror. After making sure nothing was wrong, he handed it to Laigle, who promptly dropped it.  
  
"Bad luck for seven years!" Grantaire called wildly, clinging to one of Enjolras's legs. "The elephants won't be happy with you!"  
  
"Let me go, you drunkard!" Enjolras snarled, looking murderous.  
  
"Poland will be revenged!" Feuilly cried, flinging his hat on the table.  
  
"Germany can take over stupid Poland for all I care!" Courfeyrac shouted, standing. Bahorel grinned in a blood-thirsty manner and rolled up his sleeves.  
  
Marius quickly left before a full- fledged fight broke out on the excuse that he had to go help the random woman who had called for help.  
  
Surprisingly enough, when he got outside, Eponine (for some odd reason or another) looking stunningly pretty (even though it appeared she had not washed for several months) in her artfully torn rags, fell into his arms. Or tried to.  
  
She fell just as Marius came out of the café, and her head cracked against the pavement in what appeared to be a painful way.  
  
"Ow," she said simply.  
  
"Eponine?" Marius hazarded. "Are you all right?"  
  
"No," she muttered sulkily. "I think I am very ill. I may die in an extremely trite and clichéd fashion unless you take me back to your garret and nurse me back to health."  
  
Marius was slightly confused at this. "Ah... that doesn't really make particular sense to me. Besides, there are several medical students inside and-"  
  
"But I need to recover!" Eponine protested desperately. "And, and... you volunteer to take me to your garret so I can heal!"  
  
"Ummm... do you know how small my garret is?"  
  
"Yes... but...." Eponine glared up at the sky. "This isn't working."  
  
There was a thunderclap, and Enjolras walked out of the café sporting a black- eye.  
  
"Though it is very difficult to see, I recognize that you are the plucky and pretty gamine who actively stalks Marius," Enjolras said in a monotone. His un- swelled eye was glazed over, and he did not look like he was at all aware of what was going on. He actually looked rather dead. "You are randomly injured. I think I love you."  
  
"Now that someone else loves me, you're bound to notice me, Marius, and fall madly in love with me, forsaking Cosette evermore!" A few notebooks fell on her head, and Eponine beamed.  
  
"Uh..." Marius said.  
  
"No, no," Enjolras muttered flatly. "I love her too much. She will be happier with me."  
  
"You are a dear," Eponine said sweetly to Enjolras. Then she blinked a moment, as if coming out of a daze. "'Zcuse me monsieur, do I know you? That's some fine hair you've got there. Did you know you're really quite handsome? Not so much as Monsieur Marius over here, of course, but you is a nice- looking chap."  
  
Eponine was barraged with notebooks, while Enjolras emotionlessly went on about how he loved the afore-mentioned gamine. Marius glanced inside the café to see most of his friends in a large fight that caused the waitresses and scullery maids to shriek (quite loudly) in fear. Joly was hiding under the table screaming about his health, and Combeferre was standing on the table, shouting at them all to stop, but everyone else was attempting to kill each other... even Jehan landed a few good punches on Bahorel, which surprised Marius quite a bit.  
  
An excessively side-burned police officer strode past Marius and began shouting at the students to cease and desist this disturbance of the peace, but a terrified scullery maid accidentally hit him over the head with a silver candlestick and he collapsed on the floor.  
  
This caused further chaos, as the waitresses began screaming that they had killed the only police officer in France, and oh, weren't they going to be in trouble with the law! Marius thought that if they had killed the only police officer in France, they probably wouldn't have much of a chance of being arrested, but at that point, Laigle tumbled out the door and into Enjolras, who began challenging Marius to a duel for the hand of 'fair Eponine'.  
  
So Marius did what he thought was best in the face of all this confusion. He went for a walk in le Jardin du Luxembourg.


	6. Chapter the Fifth

When Christine awoke she was still in her dressing room. Strange, she thought. I thought I was dreaming... I guess I'm not. What will I do?  
  
The question was answered for her when her mirror suddenly swung open, and Erik, looking as if he were drunk, collapsed on the floor by her feet and began mumbling incoherently.  
  
Christine, feeling rather drained and tired, stifled a yawn and peered down at the Opera Ghost's face. "Erik? Are you all right?"  
  
"No," Erik gasped, beating his forehead with a clenched fist. "I'm dying."  
  
"Oh," Christine said, not really having anything more interesting to say on the matter. "Thank you for letting me know."  
  
"Aren't you going to do something about it?" Erik asked hopefully.  
  
"Ah... I don't know if I can help you with your impending death Erik. It's not really a situation in which I have any particular power... or would you like me to call for a doctor?"  
  
Erik huffed indignantly. "No. I mean- don't you have anything to give me or say to me?"  
  
Christine was confused a moment, then fished a plain gold ring out of her pocket. Tiredly, she dropped it on Erik's head, then turned over to go back to sleep.  
  
Erik made a chocking noise, and Christine assumed that she'd dropped the ring into Erik's mouth. Whoops.  
  
So she bolted upright to see what happened to Erik. He coughed out a gold ring and looked at it mournfully.  
  
"You didn't even wear it?" he asked, despondently.  
  
"I'm allergic to gold," Christine protested. "I get a nasty rash all over my hands if I'm in contact with it for too long... that's why I took it off on the roof top, and why my wedding ring from Raoul is silver."  
  
"Oh," Erik said, also apparently having nothing interesting to say on the matter.  
  
Christine yawned. "May I go back to sleep now?"  
  
"No," Erik said unhappily. "I'm dying. Don't you have anything to say to me?"  
  
"I forgive you for ruining my life," Christine chirped cheerfully. "My physiatrist and my confessor told me this was a good way of closure and that forgiveness is always fun for everyone. May the short remainder of your life be happy! Good night, my poor Erik."  
  
With that, Christine rolled over and tried to go to sleep.  
  
Erik made another strangled noise. Christine briefly wondered if he had swallowed the ring again, then realized that was a stupid thought. She decided that she was much more sleep-deprived then she had imagined, and pressed her fingers into her ears so she could fall back asleep.  
  
"But Christine... I'm your poor Erik!" Erik protested, managing (somehow or another) to stand and yank Christine's fingers out of her ears. "Don't you have anything else to say to me? Like how much you love me, or, or, how unhappy you are with Raoul, and how you wish I weren't dying of heart- break, and how you really wanted to get married to me?"  
  
Christine yawned tiredly. "No."  
  
Erik made another choking noise.  
  
"Erik, do stop swallowing that ring," Christine admonished sternly, not really paying attention to what she was saying by now. "It's not healthy for you."  
  
There was a rustling sound, like print- outs of bad fan-fics being flung at the tormented Opera Ghost, and some sort of sound like a 'rip'... only in the time-space continuum... again.  
  
Christine, rather weary now, as frequent jumps along the timeline were really quite tiring, stood and rubbed her eyes. Apparently, she would get no sleep.  
  
"Where in the world have you been hiding?" Meg sang, bursting into Christine's dressing room. "R- really, you were perfect!" Meg took a moment to catch her breath and continued on. "I only wish I knew your secret! Who is this new tutor?"  
  
"New tutor?" Christine questioned sleepily. "What are you talking about?"  
  
Meg frowned. "Father once spoke of an Angel," she hissed. "You messed up your line."  
  
"Father once spoke of an Angel," Christine repeated drowsily. "I'm tired, Meg. Can we sing later?"  
  
Meg's frown deepened. "Fine. But I thought you should know... there's a face in your mirror, and it's not mine, and it's not yours."  
  
Christine glanced at the mirror to see Erik, looking menacing and phantom- like. She sighed and rapped sternly on the glass with her wedding ring.  
  
"Erik I appreciate your concern for me, but I'm going to have to call the authorities if you persist on lurking about my dressing room like this. It's stalking, and it's unhealthy for you and all the people around you."  
  
"You didn't mind when Raoul stalked you when you visited your father's grave," Erik protested.  
  
Meg began practicing her grand arabesques, as she had nothing else to do and regarded the Phantom randomly popping up around the Opera a regular occurrence.  
  
"I asked Raoul to follow me then," Christine nearly snapped, beginning to feel more then slightly annoyed.  
  
"But why didn't you want to marry me?" the Phantom whined, after a computer hit him on the head. "I thought you loved me! You kissed me!"  
  
"I also tried to commit suicide so I wouldn't have to marry you," Christine reminded him promptly.  
  
"Oh," the Phantom said, for lack of any other statement that would make equal sense or add anything useful to the conversation. Then several CDs bounced off Erik's head, and he brightened a moment. "In the musical, you didn't try to kill yourself!"  
  
Christine's eyes narrowed. "What musical?"  
  
Erik laughed manically. "What musical! It's only one of the most popular and longest running musicals of all time!"  
  
Christine really wished she was dreaming. "I think I'm going insane."  
  
"It's not like you weren't before," Meg added with a decided lack of tact. She was still miffed about the whole 'Christine-won't-sing-our-pretty-song- with-me-so-I-don't-get-to-harmonize-and-actually-be-heard-because-in-all- the-other-songs,-I-get-drowned-out-by-the-managers'. "All those times when you kept saying stuff about how the Phantom would always be there, singing songs in your head...."  
  
Christine stared at Meg in surprise. "When did I say that?"

Meg pointedly rolled her eyes. "In the musical!"  
  
Christine took the moment to sing an E two octaves above middle C in an attempt to express her frustration at the entire situation.  
  
Of course, she was a famous operatic soprano, and so managed to shatter her mirror. Erik came tumbling out, hit his head on Christine's vanity table, and after shrieking, "It's over now, the music of the night!" passed out on the floor of Christine's dressing room.  
  
Then Meg apparently attempted to try and hit a high E to express her frustration at the entire situation as well. Or scream in terror. Either one.  
  
She screamed/ sang all the way out of the room, causing... everyone else, as a matter of fact... to scream or attempt to hit Christine's high E as well. The first bassoon began to scream about the apocalypse for no discernable reason other then that the narrator thinks that the phrase is funny.  
  
Christine took advantage of the confusion and Erik's momentary unconsciousness to wrap herself in her furs and take a walk to the train station. It was time to visit her father's grave again.


	7. Chapter the Sixth

Raoul was livid. Not only had he been bound and gagged again, as had Baroness Cosette Pontmercy, but he had now been stuck in an unpleasantly damp jail cell that reminded him of the Communist prison the Phantom had thrown him in, once... a feeling he really did not enjoy at all.  
  
Raoul had managed to prop himself up against the stone wall and began trying to find some sort of protruding stone. Having found one, he began trying to saw through the ropes around his wrists. It wasn't working too well.  
  
Baroness Pontmercy had backed herself into a corner and was staring unhappily through the lone barred window of the cell. She also appeared to be working away at the ropes on her hands with her fingernails. Her attempt was not too successful either.  
  
Raoul considered worming his way over to Cosette and somehow conveying that they should try untying each other, but the door swung open, and, very furtively, a girl with a t- shirt with the famous picture of young Cosette and a Phantom of the Opera jacket snuck into their jail cell, and laid a pitcher of some strange, bubbly brown-ish looking liquid, two cups, and a loaf a bread in exactly the middle of the cell.  
  
Raoul had the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn't eat or drink very well with his hands tied behind him and a gag in his mouth. Cosette failed to notice the food, as she was still staring unhappily out the window.  
  
The girl backed quickly out of the door to admit a girl with a half- mask and an Eponine hat.  
  
"All right," she boomed. "If I un-gag you, will you promise not to scream?"  
  
Raoul nodded quickly. Cosette looked as if she wanted to keel over and die, but she nodded as well. The two prisoners were unceremoniously un- gagged.  
  
Cosette seemed to recover somewhat at this, and looked sadly at the Eponine and Erik fan. "Excuse me, mademoiselle, but we have no bathroom. Could you please remedy the situation?"  
  
The obsessive fan glared daggers at Cosette. Literally. Cosette had to scurry back even farther into her corner not to get stabbed. Her dress got ripped, though.  
  
"You are literary characters," the girl snarled. "You don't need bathrooms. In fact, you don't really need bread or water. Stupid laws... treating," and here she threw a particularly nasty glare at Raoul (he had to completely fall over not to be stabbed by daggers) "people like YOU humanly... what a stupid idea."  
  
"Ah, excuse me," Raoul murmured politely, attempting to keep some semblance of dignity. "But may I inquire as to why we are bound and gagged, and why we are locked in this damp and uncomfortable cell?"  
  
"You may," the girl snapped. She looked at him with annoyance and said nothing more.  
  
"And could you... please answer the question?" Raoul murmured, attempting to get up and realizing his pants had been stabbed to the floor.  
  
"The answer is because you've ruined the happiness of two of the greatest characters of all times: Erik and Eponine." The girl adjusted her Eponine hat importantly.  
  
"Who's Eponine?" Cosette asked blankly.  
  
"It's not my fault Erik was insane," Raoul replied, irked. "And I may remind you that his hands smelled like death?"  
  
The girl shot daggers at them again. Raoul ducked as best he could, and Baroness Pontmercy flopped onto the floor like a bird that had been shot.  
  
"I hate you both," the girl sniffed haughtily. "You're... a fop and a ditz!"  
  
Raoul frowned. "Where did you get the idea that I'm a fop? I have to dress nicely because I'm a Vicomte. I might also add that your theory is not backed up by Leroux at all, and even if the actor who portrays me in the musical is horrible, that does not make me a fop, or mean that the actor's interpretation of me is that I'm a fop. If the actor thinks so, then he has not read Leroux, who originally created me."  
  
"Um," Cosette said muffledly, "I'm confused at why I am being called a ditz when it is blatantly obvious that your unjust name for me really relies on the skills of the actress who portrays me in the musical? Also, your untrue slur would not have been backed up by Victor Hugo, ever. Please read the book before you accuse me of being brainless." She paused for breath and attempted to look up. "But might I ask who you, who have so unkindly bestowed false names upon us, are?"  
  
"I," she said importantly, ignoring Cosette and Raoul's logical defense of themselves, "am an author of fan- fics! I control your lives. Yes... every girl here, in this castle, is an author of fan-fiction. And you are both doomed." With that, she stormed out and slammed the door.  
  
The other girl timidly creaked open the door and crept in.  
  
"That's Fop- Basher," the girl whispered. "She's had the ability to shoot daggers out of her eyes for some time now, but it's always rather startling when she does."  
  
"We're all different," Cosette murmured from the floor, attempting to stand. "My skirt and one of my sleeves has been stabbed to the floor with several daggers and I can't move."  
  
"My jacket has been stabbed to the wall in several places, my trousers have been stabbed to the floor, and I can't move either," Raoul noted. "But that is somewhat irrelevant. May I ask who you are?"  
  
"I'm the guard," the girl said timidly. "But if you are not miserable as poor Eponine and poor Erik were and are, I will bash you over the head with a tin plate."  
  
"Oh," Raoul said simply. "So you hate us without any sort of reason too?"  
  
The girl nodded, then walked over to Raoul and kicked him in the shin. "That's for taking away the only chance at happiness Erik ever had," she said remarkably calmly and quietly. She then walked over to Cosette and dumped a handily available bucket of water over Cosette's head. "And that's for taking Eponine's man."  
  
Cosette spluttered and her hair fell limply into her eyes. "I'm... having... difficulty... breathing...."  
  
Raoul tried to rub his throbbing shin, but as his arms were tied behind his back and he was stuck to the wall, so he couldn't.  
  
"Just to let you know, I'm called 'Random, Violent, Hatred of Perfectly Innocent Characters'," the girl said innocently and softly. "You can call me 'Random Hate' if you like."  
  
"Thank you," Raoul said through clenched teeth. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind. If you do not think it rude and boorish of me, might I point out that Christine did not want to stay with Erik and nearly killed herself so she would not have to stay with that self- same musical genius, thus also ruining his happiness?"  
  
"Very kind of you," Cosette gasped dazedly. "The lack of oxygen in the blood to my brain is causing me to feel faint. On an un-related note: I'm afraid I do not know who Eponine is, or how my husband was ever her man."  
  
"I hope you lead horrible, unhappy lives," Random Hate murmured pleasantly.  
  
She walked out of the cell and carefully and quietly shut the door behind her.  
  
Raoul wished he could fish his crucifix, like the good practicing Catholic that people often forgot he was, out of his pocket to beg for a priest... surely a priest would be kind enough to not try and hurt them in various ways for no particular reason. Perhaps the priest would even be able to unpin him from the wall.

In the corner, Cosette was murmuring prayers for deliverance like the good Catholic school girl people never seemed to recall she was. Raoul attempted to make himself comfortable. His stay would not be a fun one....


	8. Chapter the Seventh

Marius was strolling absently in the park, trying to figure out how he could get to the teenaged girls who somehow or other controlled his fate. Also to see if, since the space- time continuum had been ripped so much, Cosette was somehow in le Jardin du Luxembourg with her father.  
  
Cosette wasn't there, but Marius was relieved to see Valjean, looking very puzzled, sitting by himself on a bench.  
  
"Bonjour Monsieur... er... Fauchlevent," Marius greeted his father-in-law. "How are you doing?"  
  
Valjean fell off the bench. "Who are you, and how do you know my name?"  
  
Marius realized that perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to go up and greet his father- in- law if Cosette had disappeared from the face of the Earth, and if the time- stream continuum had been warped so much, that his marriage to Cosette had not taken place yet. But it had been very appealing to talk with someone who was actually sane and not being bombarded with papers and laptops.  
  
"Er..." Marius muttered.  
  
"Wait a moment... are you the young man who stalks my daughter?" Valjean asked curiously.  
  
Marius flushed. "I wouldn't call it... 'stalking'...."  
  
"Did she run off with you?" he questioned worriedly. "Or do you know where she went? One moment, we were walking in the park, and then... I think she walked off. I don't know where she is. I've searched the park and all the surrounding streets."  
  
Marius sighed. "Cosette doesn't appear to exist in this parallel universe that resembles the one we normally live in. I'm not sure why, but the time- space continuum is being warped, and my beloved... er... your daughter, Cosette seems to be vanishing off the face of the Earth for no particular reason."  
  
"Ah," Valjean said in tones of great satisfaction. "That would explain it, then. But why?"  
  
Marius sat down on the bench and took off his hat. He absently ran a hand through his hair. "Well... I've come to the theory that teenage girls in another world drop pieces of paper and various bits of machinery on our heads to get us to do their will. I'm not quite sure why it works, but it does." Marius paused a moment to think. "Also, their frequent interference with our lives has somehow altered the space- time continuum, as well as the standard flow of time."  
  
Valjean pondered over this information a moment. "But... why?"  
  
Marius shrugged. "For their own amusement, I guess... or to give their favorite people more favorable endings."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yes... it is a bit startling." Marius ran a hand through his hair again, forlornly. "I wonder where they've taken Cosette."  
  
Valjean shrugged unhappily. "I can't imagine why God would allow this."  
  
"To help us learn I suppose." Marius paused again, thinking. "But I've also come to the conclusion that we are literary characters, and our lives are controlled by an old Frenchman named Victor Hugo. And whoever else can write and knows about us... like those teenage girls."  
  
Valjean blinked several times to better absorb this information. "Oh. How did you come to this conclusion?"  
  
"By the fact that I'm the only person in the novel mentioned to have taken an actual bath, and even then, it appears that I've only taken one, but everyone (except for the poor people who have no access to soap in any situation) is still clean." Marius frowned. "Also...I guessed by the fact that we never seem to need to use the bathroom, or even eat or sleep unless it is convenient for the author to mention it."  
  
Valjean began pacing. "But why do you know all this?"  
  
"Plot convenience."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Marius sat pensively for a moment, staring at his hat. "Well... now that we've got that settled... what should we do?"  
  
Valjean shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm not even sure why I'm here. Why don't we go to church and pray about it? I'm sure God still has some control over us... even if we are literary characters."  
  
"Well... we certainly don't need food," Marius added, trying to find some sort of reason in this otherwise reason-less alternate universe. Little did he know that there really wasn't any....  
  
"That's true," Valjean agreed. The saintly old man suddenly got the mental image of one of Cosette's novels eating an apple. It was very odd.  
  
At that moment, the heavily side-burned officer, clutching at his head and looking very peeved, began walking into the garden. Behind him were all the waitresses and scullery maids from the cafe in manacles.  
  
'Guess they were in trouble with the law after all,' Marius mused, forgetting what he was to have originally been thinking off.  
  
Valjean paled when he saw the officer and then rapidly advised Marius to start heading in the direction of a church.  
  
Marius had no other idea of what to do and Valjean's idea was as good a plan as any, so they walked off to a handily nearby cathedral and began to pray.  
  
However, this plan was slightly interrupted when there was a loud ripping noise that could only mean another hole in the time- space continuum... and another strange plot hole in this improbable fan fiction.

* * *

Christine swept out of the train station, feeling slightly annoyed. She had just missed the early train, and it would be hours before the next one came. There was really nothing left for her to do but pace. So she did. Occasionally, she tripped over her furs and fell onto the ground, but mostly, she paced.  
  
"Excuse me, mademoiselle," a well- dressed man asked, panting. "But... but, are you Christine Daae?"  
  
She nodded curiously. This man bore a striking resemblance to Raoul... who was he? It was at the tip of her tongue....  
  
"I'm Comte Philippe de Chagny," he said grandly, bowing. "I'm Raoul's older brother."  
  
"Oh," Christine said in surprise. She quickly curtsied. "It's nice to meet you, monsieur. Raoul talks of you often." She wrinkled her forehead slightly. "In the book, at least. I've come to understand that in the musical, you don't exist."  
  
Philippe gave a weary sigh. "That's true. Because of that, most people seem to forget that Raoul even has an older brother. It's very saddening and depressing and whatnot."  
  
"Well, that's... unfortunate," Christine muttered for lack of anything better to say. She really couldn't sympathize. If she was not in the story, there would be no story.  
  
Philippe nodded sadly. "Yes it is. I also got killed by the Phantom... sort of. No one could really tell if Erik was lying or not when he said he hadn't."  
  
"Oh..." Christine said, more sympathetically. "That is true. Erik can be rather unclear at times."  
  
Philippe nodded. "So, anyways... my brother is missing. He's not at home, and he's not at the Opera house, and he hasn't mentioned leaving or going anywhere. Ah... I know my brother... er... admires you greatly. Did he tell you where he would be going?"  
  
Christine frowned and shook her head. "No... I'm sorry, he didn't. And I didn't write him a note or anything telling him to follow me, either. But it seems that I'm somehow making jumps along the time- stream and therefore nothing really makes sense."  
  
"Oh," the Comte de Chagny stated, for lack of anything better to say.  
  
"Indeed," Christine agreed, feeling she had to say something.  
  
"Well... um... do you know why the time stream is tangled or blocked up or whatever happens to time when it is meddled with?" Philippe looked very awkward and confused.  
  
Christine couldn't help but feel sorry for him. After all, seeing as how he was not in the musical, he probably didn't know what was going on.  
  
"I am not quite sure," Christine admitted, "But it has something to do with the metal things that keep falling into my dressing room, and all those papers that practically buried Erik."  
  
"Um..." the Comte said, looking confused.  
  
"Never mind," Christine muttered, pacing again. "But I do wonder who keeps dropping things on our heads."  
  
"Well..." Philippe said, feeling neglected, "that crazy Phantom fellow dropped a chandelier on the audience once."  
  
"Mm-hmm," Christine murmured distractedly. "Well... father once told me a bedtime story of how teenage girls wrote stories on pieces of paper and strange metal machines called... oh... what was it? Compy- something. Compitors?"  
  
"I think I read about that," Philippe said thoughtfully. "Computers?"  
  
"Yes!" Christine exclaimed. "Well, in the story, the girls wrote stories and managed to control other people's actions, and make them do things they did not really want to do."  
  
"That was a bedtime story?" Philippe asked in disbelief. He shook his head. "Never mind. Continue on with your...eh... story. Or is that the ending?"  
  
Christine shook her head. "No. Some of the people they were controlling figured out what was going on and managed to revolt. The teenaged girls were terrified that their pencils and... comp... cumtas... computers, yes, computers were displayed words and phrases that they themselves had not written, so they stopped controlling the characters."  
  
Poor Philippe was dumbfounded. "Ah... and how do you propose we do that, if we are actually being controlled by teenage girls from the future?"  
  
Christine shrugged. "I wouldn't know." She chewed thoughtfully on her lip.  
  
"How did they do it in the story?" Philippe asked patiently.  
  
Christine sighed and paced. "That's the thing. I don't remember!" She paused a moment. "Drat it all! I knew that my father's strange and random stories would come in handy one day! I should have remembered them...."  
  
With that, there was a loud ripping noise, and Philippe and Christine fell through a hole in the time-space continuum.

* * *

A/N: Mwahahahahahahahahaha! Updating spree! Okay- to the point of this author's note: thank you for your reviews and your concern for my favorite literary characters. To answer a frequantly asked question cough, Raoul and Cosette will be rescued with the help of another one of my favorite famous literary characters. 


	9. Chapter the Eighth

Cosette was extremely unhappy. Thankfully, she had been un-gagged, but her skirt was pinned to the ground and her hair was wet.

Also, there was food and some sort of drinkable liquid, she presumed, in the center of the room, and she was getting thirsty, but she couldn't reach it. Not to mention that her dress had been ripped.  
  
Near the back wall of the cell, Raoul was trying to move, but was unsuccessful as his jacket was still pinned to the wall, and his pants to the floor. He looked rather annoyed.  
  
"Monsieur Raoul?" she asked, trying to lift her head so she could see him, which was rather difficult. "Do you think they will pull the daggers out of our clothing so we can move?"  
  
Raoul struggled to break free, or at least take off his jacket. The daggers had stabbed the fabric of his jacket in such a way that mobility was virtually impossible. "Somehow, Baroness," he muttered, forlornly attempting to pull his arm out of his sleeve, which was extremely difficult as his hands were tied together, "I sincerely doubt that."  
  
Cosette gave a small, rather petulant, sigh. "That is not very kind or polite of them. In fact, I do not think it was very courteous of them to tie us up or pin us to the wall and floor in the first place."  
  
Raoul gave up on his sleeve. "I most whole- heartedly agree with you, madame."  
  
They gave up on talking and just decided to go to sleep, as they had been yanked out of their proper time- line as well as their country and their houses and their respective spouses, and been abused by random people who hated them for no particular reason at all, which, in all, was a very tiring experience.  
  
Their attempts at dozing were interrupted when Random Hate rapped timidly on the door to the cell.  
  
"Excuse me?" she whispered.  
  
"Oui?" Cosette asked sleepily, trying to sit up. It didn't work. For obvious reasons.  
  
"What does that mean?" Random Hate inquired politely.  
  
"It means, 'yes'," Cosette murmured. "And is there any particular reason why we're speaking in English when we're French and don't really know English?"  
  
"Because none of us can speak in French," Random Hate explained softly. "Now please stop making sense, or I will have to hit you with a wooden bucket."  
  
"Oui... I mean... all right," Cosette murmured in terror, now fully awake.  
  
"Is there a reason you wish to speak with us?" Raoul questioned after a moment.  
  
"Oh, yes," Random Hate agreed quietly. "Fop- Basher has allowed you to have a visit from a... a... monk or something like that because she thinks it will make you feel guilty. If you are happy about this upcoming visit, I will flood your jail cell."  
  
"Oh," Cosette said, startled.  
  
"I... ah... assure you," Raoul lied, flipping an errant strand of blond hair out of his face. "We are absolutely... terrified to hear you're bringing in a priest. The very word, 'priest' makes me... um... tremble with fear. Ah... alas... you've made me... ah... dreadfully unhappy." He gave Cosette a look that quite plainly said, 'you'd better say something to the same extent'.  
  
Cosette bit her lip and shook her head. "I don't lie," Cosette mouthed. 'And I don't mind priests! I'm a Catholic schoolgirl."  
  
"Normally I don't either," Raoul mouthed back. "But I think we can be excused this once. I was raised a Catholic, and am a practicing one, so priests don't really scare me either. I might also add that I'm a sailor so I'm not really afraid of much, despite what people seem to think of me...."  
  
Cosette nodded, and silently added, "Yes, I understand. But I still won't lie. I was raised by a near- saint, and I won't speak untruths unless forced... in extreme circumstances...."  
  
"Excuse me," Random Hate interrupted softly. "But the priest is here."  
  
With that, an old man in a purple quilted cloak and a flat tri- corn hat with gilt tassels hanging from the points was shoved into the room. He nearly tripped over the bread, and looked confusedly around the jail cell.  
  
"I will naively leave you alone now," Random Hate informed them quietly. "I'll back in half an hour." There were footsteps that echoed very eerily throughout the cell, which let the characters know that their insane jailer had run off to go empty the dishes from the dishwasher as her mother had nagged her to do for the past three hours.  
  
The old man blinked in confusion and looked at the Vicomte, whose stylish tuxedo was pinned to the wall and floor, and Cosette, whose pretty pink dress was stabbed to the ground in a way so that it was hard for her to look up.  
  
"Ah... bonjour," the man murmured. "May God bless you both. I am the Bishop of Digne, Charles Bienvenu."

* * *

Hah! Bet you didn't expect him to be in this fic. On a random note: my school's doing 'Les Mis' for the fall musical! Okay, sorry. 


	10. Chapter the Nineth

Marius looked up in surprise to find that a delicate- looking woman with blond hair walk into the cathedral. Next to her was a man with gray hair and a stylishly tailored coat. Both looked utterly confused.  
  
Marius sighed. They were probably the people who had tumbled through the tear in the fabric that was the space- time continuum.  
  
Valjean, looking confused and awkwardly out of place, straightened his cravat and said, "Bonjour!"  
  
"Ah... bonjour?" Marius called.  
  
"Bonjour," the woman replied, glancing around the church in utter mystification.  
  
"Bonjour," the man murmured, scratching his head. "Excuse me, young fellow... ah..."  
  
"Marius," Marius supplied. "Baron Marius Pontmercy, lawyer. May I be of service to you?"  
  
Valjean sent him a skeptical glance, as if to say, 'So a baron has been stalking my daughter? This changes nothing'.  
  
The man nodded. "Yes, Monsieur Pontmercy... ah... where are we?"  
  
"Paris," Marius replied, by now equally confused.  
  
"So sorry," the woman interrupted in her clear soprano voice, "but when are we?"  
  
"When?" Valjean asked, now as confused as everyone else in the church except for the priest (who was napping in the corner and really couldn't be bothered with the visitors) and the obligatory mysterious, masked/ disguised man hiding in one of the confessionals (no, sorry, he does not answer to the name of Zorro.)  
  
"Do you mean, what's the date?" Marius asked.  
  
The woman nodded and clutched her furs around her shoulders.  
  
"It is the seventeenth of June, eighteen-hundred and thirty- one, in the year of out Lord," Valjean answered promptly.  
  
The color drained from the woman's cheeks. "That can't be possible."  
  
"I assure you," Marius assured her, standing, "that that is the correct date."  
  
"But," the woman continued, "it was eighteen- hundred and eighty-one, and-"  
  
"And it was winter, when we were at the train station," the man protested, interrupting. "How was it that we have come to be in a church when we were just standing at the train station?"  
  
Marius sighed again. "Yet again, the very fabric of the time- space continuum had been stretched so far it ripped. Apparently, you are visitors from the future or something along those lines."  
  
The woman nodded slowly. "Yes... I am Vicomtess Christine Daae de Chagny."  
  
"De Chagny!" the man exclaimed. "When did you marry that fool- hardy brother of mine?"  
  
"Shortly after he rescued me from the lair of the Phantom of the Opera... but you were dead then, I think, so you couldn't have possibly have known that." Christine paused, frowning. "Or perhaps the timeline has been so warped, I haven't married Raoul yet."  
  
"It's been warped enough so that I apparently didn't marry my wife, Cosette," Marius thought aloud.  
  
"Cosette!" Valjean exclaimed. "When did this happen?"  
  
Marius fought the urge to sigh. "That's the point. It hasn't happened yet."  
  
"Ah..." Christine said.  
  
"Oh, this is my father- in-law... future father- in- law, Jean... er, Ultime Fauchelevent," Marius introduced, gesturing at Valjean.  
  
"And this," Christine murmured, following Marius's example, "is my future brother- in- law, Philippe, the Comte de Chagny."  
  
Valjean and Philippe bowed to each other, both looking absolutely mystified.  
  
"This is too strange," Philippe said. "I don't understand anything that's going on!"  
  
"I must confess," Marius muttered. "Neither do I!"  
  
"I'm quite in the same predicament," Valjean agreed.  
  
"As am I," Christine sighed, collapsing into a nearby pew.  
  
The four stayed where they were, confused, for a moment trying to figure out what was going on.  
  
"Well..." Marius pondered. "I've come to the conclusion that we're being controlled by teenage girls from the future."  
  
"Me too," Christine agreed, nodding emphatically.  
  
"I still don't understand what's going on," Valjean whispered to Philippe. "Do you?"  
  
"Not a clue," Philippe hissed back. "Best let the young handle this sort of stuff... I feel even older then I am when I'm around my brother and his friends...."  
  
Valjean nodded. Christine cleared her throat delicately.  
  
"Well, now that that's settled..." she said, loudly, in clear, ringing tones that echoed so piercingly that the priest was awakened from his nap, "I think we should try to figure out what to do next."  
  
Marius fought the urge to storm off in a huff. "That's what we've all been trying to do for the last few chapters. Haven't you been paying attention?"  
  
"Not really," she said, shrugging. "I've been a bit dazed and out of it thanks to my frequent jumps along the time- line and my lack of sleep."  
  
"Never mind then," Marius muttered, finally realizing that he was probably the only character of the story that knew what was going on, and was therefore was in charge of the group of confused French people. This fact did not improve his mood at all.  
  
"But what will we do?" Philippe persisted, beginning to pace. "I want to go back to my own time period!"  
  
"I'm worried for my husband," Christine added.  
  
"And my daughter," Valjean interjected. "She really shouldn't be forced out into the world completely by herself... at her age, and her life experience! I have to find her as well."  
  
"I'm getting worried for my brother, I admit," Philippe admitted. "I hope he hasn't been tortured mercilessly by the fan-girls of his pretended rival, the Phantom of the Opera."  
  
"I hope my daughter isn't being tormented by people who are inclined to hate her due to the fact that she had a happy ending," Valjean murmured.  
  
They all turned to look at Marius, who had given up on the others and was sitting and daydreaming.  
  
"Oh... am I in charge?" he asked after a moment of them staring.  
  
"_YES_!" they chorused.  
  
"Oh... right... the only character that knows what's going on thing. Well, all right. Ah-"  
  
"Ah... excuse me," the priest muttered, coming up behind Marius, "but with our acoustics and our domed cathedral, your voices are very loud, and I couldn't help but overhear-"  
  
"Would you like us to leave?" Valjean inquired politely. "If so, then I'm terribly sorry, and we will vacate the area immediately."  
  
"No, no," the priest protested, playing with the rosary around his neck. "It's just that the strange... masked, I think, man hiding in the confessional who scared Father Pierre away with his laughter overheard as well-"  
  
Again, the poor priest was interrupted, as Christine gave a muffled shriek of surprise, and then took a deep breath.  
  
"Mademoiselle Daae?" Marius asked in confusion. "Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm all right," she murmured tightly, readjusting her furs. "I thought... for a moment, that it was someone I knew... but he's from my own time, so it must be someone else. It can't be the Phantom of the Opera."  
  
"Who doesn't exist," Philippe sighed, rubbing his temples.  
  
"Ah... right then," the priest said. "Well, the obligatory mysterious masked man who isn't the Phantom of the Opera offered his services, as you are in obviously in quite a predicament."  
  
"Who is the masked man?" Valjean asked, curious, "But if he doesn't wish for his true name to be revealed, that's perfectly acceptable as well. I understand the need for secrecy."  
  
The priest scratched his ear uncomfortably. "Um... I... don't know, sorry. Would you like me to fetch him?"  
  
Marius looked at the others. Philippe looked tired, Valjean looked confused, and Christine looked slightly embarrassed. Apparently he would have to be making the decisions again....  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
The priest scurried away, and then ran back, a tall man in a cloak with a realistic- looking mask over the upper part of his face in tow. The priest nodded to them all, and with a little relieved sigh, scurried away again.  
  
The masked man grinned at them good naturedly. "I suppose you must be very confused right now... Odd's fish! I must introduce myself." He bowed gracefully. "I am the Scarlet Pimpernel. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance." 


	11. Chapter the Tenth

The bishop bowed to them both and smiled.  
  
Cosette blew a curly strand of brown hair out of her eyes and inclined her head, or rather, attempted to. It was hard as it was to hold her head up. "It is a pleasure to meet you monsignor. I am Baroness Cosette Pontmercy."  
  
She attempted to get up and properly curtsy, as she had been taught to do at the convent, but as she was currently pinned to the floor with daggers in such a way that movement was impossible and her hands were tied behind her back, it didn't work too well. "Um... please forgive me, monsignor, for my disheveled appearance and for not curtsying properly, but... ah... at the present moment, I am unable to remedy the situation. Please accept my humblest apologies."  
  
"And I," Raoul murmured politely, making an awkward sort of half bow where he leaned his head and torso forward giving one the impression he was falling, "am Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny. I also must beg your forgiveness for my, ah... less then satisfactory appearance, monsignor. We really appreciate your visit, by the way."  
  
The bishop blinked. "Thank you both... and it is most understandable that you cannot perform the usual acts of courtesy, considering the circumstances." He pushed his hat back on his head and scratched his forehead, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. "But I thought I was eating breakfast at my house...."  
  
Cosette nodded sagely. "Ah. I was waiting for my husband to come home."  
  
"And I," Raoul added, "was going to eat dinner with my wife."  
  
"How very strange," the bishop murmured, sounding confused. "But how does one explain the sudden change in time and in... ah... setting?"  
  
Cosette shrugged delicately. "I expect that it has some sort of direct correlation with our malicious and rather unpleasant jailers, the time- space continuum, and... Eponine and Erik, was it? It is also conceivable and quite feasible that we've somehow jumped from our appropriate places on the timeline back to the French Revolution of 1789 and the Reign of Terror and have been unfairly imprisoned and incarcerated because we are members of the supposedly corrupt aristocracy." She stopped to take a breath.  
  
The bishop and Vicomte looked at her in stunned silence.  
  
"What?" she asked, widening her blue eyes incredulously. "You didn't think I knew what the time- space continuum was? I did go to school, you know. I'll have you know that I am very well- educated and well-read." She pressed her lips together and frowned. "Or perhaps you imagined that because I like pretty clothes I have no brain for more serious matters, having utilized all possible brain capacity for idle fripperies and frills. If so then I will be forced to entitle you dim-witted male chauvinists."  
  
"Well," the bishop murmured after he and Raoul glanced at each other in mingled amusement and disbelief, "that's one stereotype down."  
  
Cosette smiled beatifically at them. "Now if you would be so kind as to unpin me...."  
  
"Oh," the bishop said in surprise. "Yes, of course." He untied her hands first, and then tried as best he could to pull the daggers out of her dress.  
  
"I personally believe the aforementioned young ladies who have unfairly incarcerated us have somehow transported us along the time-line to the Reign of Terror in order us to pay for whatever slights or wrongs we have committed against Erik or this 'Eponine'," Raoul thought aloud. "It is the most probable solution, and it appears that the authoresses might think that by forcing us out of our proper places along the time- lines, our spouses will disregard our marriage vows and end up with that loathsome phantom and this Eponine character. I have not the faintest inkling as to why they so choose to do so, but it is apparent that they have incarcerated us unjustly and without due process of law."  
  
Now it was Cosette's turn to be shocked. The poor bishop attempted to be shocked as well, but decided he had fallen asleep over his breakfast and was having a very strange dream. He accidentally poked himself with one of the daggers and ascertained that he was, in fact, awake.  
  
"I'm intelligent!" Raoul protested indignantly. "I got a good education as well!"  
  
"All right, we believe you," the bishop said slightly distractedly, tugging the last dagger out of Cosette's sleeve. "You know... when they let me out, I'll have to write a letter about this to my good friend Sir Percy Blakeney... I'm sure he can help you both."  
  
Cosette, once freed from the daggers, smiled her thanks to the bishop, stood and brushed off her dress. She noted, with dismay, that her silk skirt was dirty and had multiple rips everywhere. Also, her sleeve hung in tatters around her elbow. She was not in a good mood.  
  
"If you would be so kind, monsignor," Raoul murmured after a moment, when no one had made any sort of movement to free him, "I would be very happy if I could move my arms once again."  
  
"Oh, but of course," the priest murmured, untying the Vicomte's hands.  
  
"Let me help!" Cosette offered, carefully working a dagger out of Raoul's black velvet jacket.  
  
They eventually got Raoul freed. Raoul muttered something that Cosette could not quite catch that had to do with being incarcerated unfairly in the cellar of an opera and deja vous.  
  
"Time's up!" Random Hate murmured, walking to the door. "Let's see if I can open the door now...."  
  
Cosette flopped back down in her corner, and Raoul pretended to still be stuck to the wall.  
  
"I'll see if I can't get a letter to Sir Percy," the bishop muttered. "What are the names of your spouses?"  
  
"Baron Marius Pontmercy," Cosette said swiftly.  
  
"Christine Daae de Chagny," Raoul whispered.  
  
"And may the blessings of God be upon you," the bishop intoned in a louder voice.  
  
"Ahhh!" Raoul yelled unenthusiastically. "Not the blessings of God!"  
  
"Alas," Cosette added, sounding like she was lying. "I'm terrified."  
  
"Good bye," the bishop hissed as Random Hate swung the door open. "I'll do all I can to get you out."  
  
"Merci, monsignor," Cosette murmured. Random Hate stepped into the cell. "Yay, the priest is leaving," Cosette said in a louder voice. "That was one of the... the most... er... horrifying experiences of my life." Blushing furiously at the lie, she faced the floor and prayed for forgiveness.  
  
"Well..." Random Hate whispered after she ushered the bishop out of the cell, "I was going to poke you with pointy objects until you began speaking in German, but I suppose the priest was torture enough."  
  
"Er... yeah," Raoul agreed, sounding slightly relieved.  
  
"I hope she leaves soon, as I'm having trouble breathing again," Cosette remarked to herself, softly. "My face is buried in this moldy straw." 


	12. Chapter the Eleventh

Christine stared in shock at the man. "So... you're really not the Phantom of the Opera?"  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel looked confused. "I'm sorry? Who?"  
  
She shook her head. "Never mind."  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel blinked. "If you say so, m' dear."  
  
"Um, excuse me," Marius broke in politely. "But... who exactly are you and why have you offered us your assistance?"  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel looked a bit shocked. "Haven't you heard of me?" He suddenly burst into song. "They seek him here! They seek him there! Those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven or is he in hell? That demmed, elusive, Pimpernel!"  
  
Christine noted, slightly absently, that he had a very lovely tenor voice. Everyone else stared at him in shock and confusion.  
  
"Eh... I get my kicks by saving French aristocrats from the guillotine," he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.  
  
Marius had been observing the Scarlet Pimpernel's clothing.  
  
"Forgive me," the lawyer interjected, as he had (reluctantly) become the leader/ spokesperson of the group. "But are you quite possibly one of my grandfather's friends... your clothes, er...."  
  
"They are at the height of fashion, are they not?" the Pimpernel asked faux (or so Christine hoped) foppishly. "All in this lovely shade of scarlet, too... except for the cravat." He straightened out his spot-less, white cravat importantly.  
  
Valjean was staring in mute shock and (quite possibly) horror.  
  
"You're from... the French revolution then?" Philippe questioned, eyeing the scarlet waistcoat and breeches the Scarlet Pimpernel was wearing.  
  
"Eh... I'm English... I was against the whole, 'Let's decapitate people who own nice houses' thing... I do own a nice house, you know, but, yes, I suppose so." The Scarlet Pimpernel paused again. "And yes, I know its 1831... I heard you talking, and yes, I did fall through the time- space continuum, when Madame le Vicomte and the Comte did, as well."  
  
"D'accord," Marius muttered, running a hand through his hair. "But why are you willing to help us?"  
  
"Well," the Scarlet Pimpernel started, sitting down and sweeping his cloak about himself in a lordly fashion, "my good friend Monsieur Myriel asked me. I rescued him when he and his wife were under suspicion by Robespierre... sent him off to Italy, as his wife was deathly afraid of water and so crossing the English Channel was not an option... she actually went into a fit of hysterics whenever she saw a puddle. Other then that, she was a very nice girl, very pleasant.  
  
"Well, anyway, I saved his life a few times, he saved mine- we became friends. So after he entered into the priesthood, he fell through a hole in the time- space continuum and found a baroness-"  
  
"Cosette," Marius murmured, looking hopeful.  
  
"And a Vicomte-"  
  
"Raoul," Christine sighed rapturously.  
  
"Unfairly incarcerated, probably because they're aristos. So he found out the names of their spouses and wrote me a note asking me to help him. My wife wasn't all too keen on the idea of time- travel... she's had some bad experiences with it and we just got rid of some time- traveling girl... Marie Suzette, I think, who had invaded our home and kept trying to seduce me, but I really didn't have any choice in the matter, as the time- space continuum ripped, and I and the chair I was sitting on got sucked through it. I landed at the bishop's home, and he and I discussed a plan, but then the time- space continuum ripped again, landing me here and him somewhere else entirely."  
  
"May I be as bold as to ask," Philippe inquired, after taking a minute to absorb the story, "what year it was when you were sucked through the rip in the fabric of the time- stream to the bishop's home?"  
  
"1793," he replied promptly.  
  
"This is making my brain hurt," Philippe muttered.  
  
"La! Isn't it?" the Scarlet Pimpernel exclaimed. "Well... I feel we should go rescue your spouses... and...." He trailed off and looked at Valjean and Philippe.  
  
"Adopted daughter," Valjean supplied.  
  
"Brother," Philippe muttered grumpily.  
  
"Eh... well... we'll just go rescue the Baroness and the Vicomte, shall we?"  
  
Valjean nodded. "Sounds good to me."

"All right," Christine murmured. "But I must ask- won't we get in trouble for all this ripping of the time- space continuum and all this copy- right infringement?"

The Scarlet Pimpernel shrugged good- naturedly. "Most likely. But if all else fails, I can ask for help from my friend the Prince of Whales. Or we can always call up my good friend Sydney Carton. He and his partner are very well- known English lawyers, and can get us out of trouble."

"I'm a lawyer," Marius added. "If the French authors sue, I can handle that."

"And I can always get my friend, Mr. Darcy, to use some of his political sway," Philippe added. "He was a very nice fellow, though a bit reserved. His wife was very witty and charming as well. At any rate, Mr. Darcy has some powerful relatives in the English court, as I have some very influential friends here in France."

Marius shook his head in bewilderment. "I feel as if all these random allusions to other, well- known, nineteenth century novels are far to convenient. I won't even mention my cousin, the Count of Monte Cristo."

Valjean sighed and began rubbing his temples. "If anyone thinks of mentioning that they somehow know Oliver Twist, I think I'll go crazy. All the copy- right infringements and rips in the time- space continuum are making my brain hurt."

"We've gotten distracted," the Scarlet Pimpernel pointed out pragmatically. "The origional subject was the rescue of the Baroness and the Vicomte." He turned to Marius. "What steps have been taken to find them?"

Marius ran a hand through his hair again, looking unhappy. "Not many, I'm afraid. We don't know the location of Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny or of my wife."  
  
Valjean sent him a look. Marius flushed. "I mean... future wife... ah... your daughter."  
  
"I am longing to find my dear husband, Raoul," Christine murmured, clasping her hands together. "I'm worried about him. What will they do to my poor Raoul?"   
  
"I still hope you know that I don't approve of that at all," Philippe grumbled. "I had hoped Raoul would make a name for himself in the Navy before he got married and settled down."  
  
"Yes, but let us get back to the point," Marius announced with all his lawyer-y skills. "All this inane prattle and strange, non- cohesive exclamations have not altered the fact that my wife... ah... Monsieur Fauchelevent's daughter and the Vicomte de Chagny are both missing. And we have no idea where to find them or have even the remotest idea of where to start looking for them."  
  
"La!" The Scarlet Pimpernel exclaimed. "That's a situation easily remedied. Odd's fish... Is that the only reason you haven't found them yet and why the action of this story has disintegrated into you four talking?"

"Yes, but I fail to see how this issue will be resolved," Valjean remarked, looking slightly tired and confused.  
  
"Well," the Scarlet Pimpernel announced cheerfully. "I know where they are."  
  
"Thank the Lord," Valjean murmured, crossing himself nearly happily.  
  
Christine squeaked in glee and flung her arms around the Scarlet Pimpernel, who clearly wasn't expecting it, as he nearly fell out of his seat.  
  
Marius beamed and looked as if he was so happy he'd combust.  
  
All four of them noticed that in the midst of all this happy, joyful glee, Philippe was rather silent. In fact, all he had done was sigh in relief and collapse into the pew. They all stared at Philippe until he felt obligated to say something  
  
"Yay," Philippe said rather unenthusiastically. "I want to go home. There's something to be said about the comfort of being a forgotten character."


	13. Chapter the Twelveth

Raoul pretended to be asleep. Eventually, there were the sounds of footsteps, and he sprung up. He carefully made his way to the door, walking so that his boots would not make any sound against the straw- covered floor.  
  
Raoul cautiously examined the hallways, and upon seeing Random Hate disappear down the hall (probably to go find some cheap, sugary snacks), whispered, "D' accord... elle n'est pas la." ("Okay... she's not there.")  
  
Cosette's eyes immediately opened- a startling blue in the darkness of the cell. "She's not there? Bien!" She smiled happily and sat up. "Ah! C'est bien parler en français, finalement! Il a été très étrange parler en anglais quand je ne sais pas la langue."  
  
This, to you people who (gasp!) don't speak French (how can you not speak French, I ask you?) it means, "Ah! It's good to talk in French, finally! It was very strange to talk in English when I didn't know the language."  
  
Raoul nodded. "But I'm afraid we'll have to talk in English now, as no one will understand us otherwise, quite defeating the purpose of this fan-fic."  
  
Cosette sighed unhappily. "Je le déteste." ("I hate it.")  
  
Raoul nodded. "I know... I hate speaking fluently in languages I'm not supposed to know too, but people still have to be able to understand us."  
  
Cosette made a face, but nodded anyways. "Oui... I mean... yes. You're right."  
  
Raoul tried the handle to the door several times, but it remained as tightly locked as ever. He had not expected it to be unlocked, but it had been worth a shot anyways. With a muffled sigh, Raoul leaned against the door and let his sparkling blue eyes wander around the darkness of the room. He glanced at the window and then examined it once more.  
  
Cosette noticed his stare and examined the window herself. She tentatively touched the bars and murmured, with some surprise, "The bars are rusted!"  
  
Raoul stealthily made his way back to the window and walked around it, examining the window from all sides. Experience (most of it bad, and most of it regarding a certain incident when certain crew- mates who had consumed more then their allotted ration of rum had accidentally locked him in the brig) had taught him not to try grabbing onto the bars and yanking. It never worked.  
  
But first... to see if the plan he was formulating was agreeable to the other person in the cell. "Cosette?"  
  
Cosette looked up from her scrutiny of the bases of the metal bars. "Oui? I mean, yes?"  
  
"If I was able to break off the bars of this window, do you think you could fit through? It's too small for me...."  
  
Cosette examined the window, measuring the length and width of it with her hands and then measuring her own, slim, figure. "I believe so." She paused and tilted her head to one side, considering. "But monsieur le Vicomte... how do you plan on breaking off the bars?"  
  
Raoul, frankly, had no idea.  
  
"Frankly," Raoul admitted, "I have no idea."  
  
"I know," Cosette replied in slight confusion. "The narrator just stated that in the sentence above your bit of dialogue. But I'm confusing myself again. Perhaps it's best not to ask after all."  
  
Cosette looked out at the moot-lit grass in front of the window in a vague attempt to try and distract herself from her worrying (and confusing) predicament.  
  
Raoul began examining the bases of the rusted bars, noting that the screws holding the aforementioned bars in place were equally rusty, and popping out of their holes.  
  
"Cosette? Do you have a hairpin? If so, may I borrow it?"  
  
Cosette looked up in confusion. "A hairpin? Yes, but I don't see why you'd need it." All the same, Cosette pulled her ivory hairpin out of her bun, her curly brown hair promptly falling down her back in a glorious cascade that was probably really impractical and inconvenient. She made a little annoyed sound and handed Raoul the hairpin.  
  
Raoul mumbled his thanks and stuck the edge of the hairpin in one of the screws, carefully twisting it out. This was achieved in the space of seven minutes, thirty- two seconds, and .700986 milliseconds. Cosette had been timing, for a lack of anything better to so.  
  
"Do you plan on doing that to every single one of the screws?" Cosette inquired, slight tones of incredulity creeping into her voice.  
  
"Basically," Raoul answered, twisting out another screw.  
  
Cosette wandered off to her corner of the cell and occupied herself with ripping off a bit of the lace edge of her petticoat and tying her hair back up into a bun. Then she began reciting Homer's _Odyssey_ to herself. Once that was done, she recited several of Poe's pieces of macabre poetry, completely ignoring the constraints of the space- time continuum and the language barrier. Once she had finished that, Raoul had managed to take out a large majority of the screws. He put them in his pocket, for lack of a better place.  
  
"Nearly done?" Cosette questioned, debating over whether it would be best to recite some poetry by Victor Hugo, as the narrator thought it rather ironic.  
  
"Nearly," Raoul echoed, setting down the hair pin and gripping the bars firmly. He yanked on them, and to his surprise, they came off with a large clang.  
  
Cosette flew to the door. Raoul froze, bars in hand.  
  
"Raoul!" Cosette hissed, turning towards him at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Someone's coming! Quick, hide the bars!"  
  
Raoul placed the bars under some moldy straw and threw himself on top of them. He pretended to be asleep, but kept an eye on the door. Cosette flew back to her corner and shut her eyes quickly.  
  
"Excuse me," Random Hate murmured, rapping on the door to the jail cell, "but there were noises. What's going on?"  
  
"What?" Raoul inquired faux sleepily, making sure his body covered the bars and that it appeared as if his hands were still tied behind his back. "What's going on?"  
  
"Oh," Random Hate said quietly. "One of you must have been flopping about in your sleep. Well... it's nearly dawn anyways. Up."  
  
Cosette looked at him worriedly and Raoul decided to keep lying on the bars.  
  
Random Hate looked oddly at him. Raoul carefully kept his face blank and said, "My hands are tied... I can't get up."  
  
Random Hate peered into the cell and softly remarked, "You know... you... aren't pinned to the wall like usual."  
  
Raoul didn't know what to say to this. Cosette, however, seemed to have some sort of idea.  
  
"The daggers vanished during the night," Cosette lied, flushing furiously. "Uh... very strange really... ah... in fact... I would assume that the noise you heard was Raoul falling over when the daggers vanished." Blushing even more furiously then before at the lie, she turned back to Raoul and made loud 'tsk'ing sounds. "Oh, and look! The ropes around his wrists have gotten caught on this randomly protruding stone! No wonder he can't move. How miserable he must be!"  
  
And then, because she figured that if she perpetuated a sterotype they'd be left alone, Cosette remarked: "And how utterly horrible it is to see all the rips in our clothing. Really! This dress was of brand new pink silk and genuine Mechlin lace! Oh, you've ruined it. And look at his tuxedo. That must have been first- rate black velvet... looks finely sewn... hm, elegantly tailored and styled, oh! Is that silver embroidery? At any rate, you've ruined that too! I'm very angry at you all."  
  
Random Hate looked very happy. "Are you both feeling desperately unhappy?"  
  
Raoul nodded quickly. "I assure you... I am more miserable then even when Christine ignored me because that stupid, conceited, insane... ah... incredible genius that is my... er... superior, the Phantom of the Opera forced her...."  
  
Random Hate sent him a look of pure venom.  
  
"Ah, that is to say," Raoul amended quickly, "that he more asked her to do that then forced, and, uh... she was probably very happy to do that because... uh... she... never... really loved me? To ignore me."  
  
"Good!" Random Hate whispered. "You're learning!"  
  
"Heh," Raoul said uncomfortably. "Right."  
  
"MEETING!" boomed a random voice.  
  
"All right," Random Hate murmured, looking happy. "I've got to go. But you can eat the bread on the middle of the floor and drink the delicious Vanilla Coke™ in the bucket. We haven't poisoned it or anything. Elyse3 would just die if we poisoned her precious supply of delicious Vanilla Coke™."  
  
"All... right," Cosette muttered, her face still a pink color (that matched her rather tattered skirt) from having to lie.  
  
Random Hate set off whistling, and Cosette scurried to the door to make sure she had left. The footsteps faded and Cosette whispered, "She's gone."  
  
"And I," the bishop murmured, approaching the cell, "am back." 


	14. Chapter the Thirteenth

A/N: Please excuse me for making Eponine more insane then she actually was in the book. I'm just so bad at writing her character....

* * *

The Scarlet Pimpernel strode quickly out of the church, Marius (still the self- appointed leader of the group) trotting close behind him, asking various questions, while the others were a bit further back.  
  
Marius was, frankly, rather confused. "Why are there all these rips in the space- time continuum? Surely the authors don't have that much to write about!"  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel shook his head, and guided Marius down several twisting streets. "You'd be surprised how much one person can expand upon the most basic of plots. Sometimes, they don't even have plots."  
  
Marius was silent a moment, absorbing this information. "But how will we get to wherever the teenage girls are?"  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel smiled. "Through some rather convenient plot twists. Like this one." He pointed down the street, where a dirty gamine in a funny hat was waiting underneath an umbrella. Occasionally, a few scraps of paper would bounce off the umbrella and tumble into the gutter beneath her, which would prompt her to hum an off- key version of 'On My Own'.  
  
Marius paled. "Eponine?"  
  
Eponine brightened and scurried towards them. "Monsieur Marius! I'm very happy to see you. Who's the nice- looking Englishman in front of you? He's not nearly as handsome as you. Your hair is all messy again! You know, you do look very attractive like that- looking all... I mean... looking very confused and with your hair rumpled like that."  
  
Marius turned to the Scarlet Pimpernel in amazement. "What's going on? She sounds like her normal self! Well... as normal as Eponine can get...."  
  
Eponine smiled, revealing her many missing teeth. "Funny thing, M'sieur Marius! Just after you left, Enjolras and Grantaire were forced to act all lovey- dovey... I mean, act like they were in love, which was really funny, because one minute the blond one... Enjolras, I think.... was swearing his undying love to the greasy one- Grantaire, and when the greasy one tried to kiss him, Enjolras looked all shocked and annoyed and threatened to shoot him, Grantaire, that is, but anyways, the rest of those revolutionary type fellows went off to... they had a real nice, fancy term for it... ah... 'explore their sexuality' and the one with the flowers gave me his umbrella, and so I decided to come find you."  
  
The others had caught up during Eponine's long, run- on sentence of a speech and stared at each other in confusion. Marius managed a weak smile then thought longingly of his beloved Cosette, who always utilized proper grammatical structures.  
  
"This works out nicely," the Scarlet Pimpernel thought aloud. "Eponine, m' dear, you have a reputation for knowing your way around, correct?"  
  
Eponine nodded and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Christine looked slightly stricken, and looked for her handkerchief. Philippe looked tired. Valjean looked confused, yet sympathetic.  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Eponine who scrutinized it carefully.  
  
"Oh!" She exclaimed happily. "I know where this is, m'sieur! I can take you to it if you want."  
  
"Please do," the Scarlet Pimpernel asked politely. Marius sighed, but resigned himself to Eponine's company. He dismally noted that Eponine's rags were more torn then usual, and, feeling charitable towards her since she would lead him to Cosette (again) he gave her his coat.  
  
Eponine accepted it worshipfully, and put it on. Marius felt embarrassed and rather stupid; as people were beginning to give him odd looks for walking about in his shirtsleeves... strange propriety of the times and whatnot, but then became lost in a daydream about finding Cosette and forgot about everything else. The Scarlet Pimpernel raised an eyebrow, but flipped a coin to Eponine, who caught is and dashed off.  
  
Philippe sighed tiredly and broke into a trot. Valjean bestowed a rare smile on Marius, and Christine readjusted her furs and lifted her skirt slightly so she could follow.  
  
"Come on," Eponine called, rounding a corner. "It's this way... we might have to catch a ride with a bloke I just met though. It's across water... a what- d'you-call-it... a... moat! That's the word! Moat!"  
  
"Lovely," Philippe mumbled, wishing he had just stayed home in bed.  
  
"Oh, Raoul," Christine sighed, smiling. "I'll soon-" She abruptly stopped speaking as a dark figure in a boat rowed his way across a river directly in front of them. Then she paled, backed into a tree and slid to the ground, and hugged her knees to her chest in utter terror. Valjean looked even more confused, and Eponine twirled her umbrella around in an amused manner.  
  
"Please tell Christine I'm sorry," the figure in the black cloak called, pulling the boat to shore. He was sporting a wide- brimmed black hat and a white- half mask.  
  
"Hello Erik!" Eponine exclaimed happily, jumping into the boat. "How'd you get all the way out here from the Opera house so quickly?"  
  
Erik paused a moment, confused. "I don't know. But I'm here because I'm needed in this convenient twist of the plot."  
  
"Who are you?" Philippe asked suspiciously.  
  
"The Pha----------ntom of the Opera!" Erik sang.  
  
"I told you he exists!" Christine exclaimed unhappily. "But would you believe me? No!"  
  
"Calm down mademoiselle!" Valjean advised, going towards the tree. "He apologizes, and he's willing to help us get to your husband and my daughter."  
  
"This is too strange," Marius mumbled, climbing into the boat as well. "Whatever advances this strange and discordant plot to the dramatic and probably randomly amusing conclusion, really."  
  
"La, sir," the Scarlet Pimpernel drawled, "I find myself quite in agreement with you." He also stepped into the boat, as did Philippe. " You sure he won't attempt to kidnap me again?" Christine asked, looking uncertain. "And he really is sorry? I'm willing to forgive him if he promises not to violate my rights anymore. I don't love him, and though I'm sorry if I've hurt his feelings, I refuse to marry him or even pretend like it anymore. I'm getting very tired of having a stalker."  
  
"I promise!" Erik called. "I've learned my lesson, and I'm not under the control of those teenaged girls anymore. I've got a hat, and everything they throw at me bounces off it."  
  
She stood up (which actually took a while, as her furs had gotten snagged on the bark of the tree), and she and Valjean got into the boat. She sat as far away from Erik as she could and looked slightly uncomfortable.  
  
Erik pushed the boat away from shore and they went on quite silently for a long time. But the Scarlet Pimpernel obviously felt the discomfort of the silence and so cleared his throat and so asked in a faux cheery voice, "So... Eponine! How did you meet Erik? I thought you were from two completely different fan-doms."  
  
Eponine nodded as several palm pilots bounced off her umbrella. "We are, but Erik fell through another rip in the time- space continuum right in front of the café where the boy with the flowers gave me his umbrella and looked lost." Eponine paused a moment to consider what she had just said, and looked puzzled. "I mean- Erik looked lost. The boy with the flowers began reciting love poetry to... Enjolras, I think, who threatened to shoot him as well as Grantaire. So I offered to show Erik around, and he told me his life story, and I told him mine. Turns out we're both featured in a novel, musical, and a couple films, we've got loads of fan-girls, and we both suffer from... ummm....."  
  
"Unrequited love?" Erik prompted, brushing a few scraps of paper off the brim of his hat.  
  
"That's it!" Eponine cried happily. Marius managed another weak smile, then hunched over and stared out at the water. Christine gave a slightly nervous laugh and tightened her grip on her furs.  
  
"Hunh," Valjean stated, unsure of what else to do or say.  
  
Philippe merely sighed, thinking longingly of the nice dinner he'd have had with La Sorelli if he'd simply stayed in his own fandom, ignored by the obsessive and slightly scary fan-girls.  
  
"Well, anyways," Eponine continued on obliviously, "Erik felt real bad...very bad, I mean, about what those teenage girls forced him to do and tried to find Christine so he could apologize. So I showed him to the Opera house and I went off to go find Monsieur Marius." She then squinted off into the distance and remarked, "Erik, you'll have to take a right next chance you get and then keep going until you reach the tree that looks a bit like an elephant. Then you take a left and go past the bushes that are taller then I am and keep going until you get to the castle."  
  
Erik nodded, as if these directions made some sort of sense. The company again lapsed into silence, albeit an uneasy one, as Marius and Christine were far too embarrassed and uncomfortable to talk, Philippe was too tired, Valjean was too confused, the Scarlet Pimpernel was too busy going over his rescue plan, Eponine was too busy trying to remember the correct directions, and Erik was concentrating on steering the boat. They spent many, many moments in an awkward silence that stretched on for ages.  
  
"So..." Valjean muttered when he couldn't take the uncomfortable silence any more, "where are we going, exactly?"  
  
"To the castle where your friends are being kept," the Scarlet Pimpernel replied absently.  
  
"There!" Eponine shouted, pointing at some bushes that happened to be on fire. "Now turn that way, and keep going 'til we get to the pink castle."  
  
"Pink castle?" Valjean asked in disbelief.  
  
"Pink," the Scarlet Pimpernel repeated, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket and examining it carefully.  
  
"Why pink?" Philippe wanted to know.  
  
"Why not?" the Scarlet Pimpernel replied. "I, myself, would've preferred the castle to be scarlet, but I speak from my own personal prejudices."  
  
They soon reached the pink castle, and Erik looked at it carefully.  
  
"It would appear that the castle is not heavily guarded," he remarked. "All the same, would you like me to pull up to the side or in back?"  
  
"The right side, if you please," the Scarlet Pimpernel requested calmly. "We have a way in, if I am not mistaken."  
  
"You do have a plan?" Marius questioned, feeling worried.  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think I am, m' dear fellow?"  
  
With that, Erik landed the boat, and the Scarlet Pimpernel got out. He looked at a large door, and nodded.  
  
"All right. The lives of everyone involved as are the people we're to be rescuing rely on everyone following my orders to the letter. Can you all agree to do whatever I may ask you?"  
  
Slowly, they all nodded.


	15. Chapter the Fourteenth

"Good," the Scarlet Pimpernel continued. "Erik and Eponine- I will need you later. Right this moment, please pull the boat into that copse of trees on the river bank and wait there with Marius and Christine. Can you do that?"  
  
"Sure," Eponine said.  
  
Marius nodded quickly, though he felt somewhat annoyed. Erik nodded as well. Christine, looking slightly terrified, took a deep breath and nodded.  
  
"Ultime and Philippe- you'll need to come with me once we get the boat hidden." The Scarlet Pimpernel glanced at the castle again. "Let's go quickly."  
  
Marius and Erik waded into the water and began pushing it out. Valjean single- handedly pulled it up on shore, and with apparent ease, dragged it into the copse himself, leaving Marius feeling rather foolish and wet. He attempted to wring out his sleeves, but it was a rather futile gesture, as he was still wearing his shirt, and when he tried to get out of the moat, he just got his sleeves even wetter.  
  
"All right," the Scarlet Pimpernel whispered. "You all know what you're to do. Come on." With that, he, Valjean and Philippe ran up the bank (Philippe lagging behind and muttering to himself), and the others ran into the trees.  
  
'I hope he knows what he's doing,' Marius thought as he dove behind to bush to avoid being seen by a teenage girl who was strolling along the river.  
  
Christine made an annoyed sound as her furs once again became tangled in a bush. "Horrid things," she muttered. "I'll just leave them here and let them rot." Eponine looked at her curiously, and Erik was somehow unable to be seen... that is, until Eponine tripped over him, and they both yelped in pain.  
  
"Like, who's there?" the teenage girl who had been strolling along the river called, pushing her Eponine hat up so she could see. "I, like, heard someone."  
  
Christine glanced worriedly at her furs, which were now rather ragged and were stuck on a bush. She hoped the girl was dimwitted enough to take them for actual animals. She glanced behind her to see Marius huddled behind another bush, Erik swearing muffledly and clutching his side, and Eponine sprawled on top of him.  
  
"Is, like, someone there?" she called again.  
  
Christine had no idea what to do but hold her breath and pray that the girl would not come near. Marius, struck by a sudden burst of genius, shook the branches of the bush where Christine's furs had been caught.  
  
"Oh!" the girl squealed. "It's, like, a fox or something!"  
  
'A fake fox,' Christine thought. 'I can only hope she thinks that fake furs are actual animals and leaves us alone.'  
  
"Here, foxy!" the girl yelled.  
  
Marius hit himself on the head softly and Erik looked rather annoyed. Eponine glanced up from where she was lying, looking concerned. Christine bit her lip and was struck by the same genius Marius was- such a productive genius, really!  
  
She carefully disentangled the furs and tossed them towards her right, into a separate copse of bushes.  
  
"Oh!" the girl squealed. "It moved! But just to prove how, like, stupid, and like... I don't know, another synonym for stupid, I, like, guess, I'll investigate the bush it was first in!"  
  
Christine's eyes widened and she felt rather panicked.  
  
Eponine swore under her breath, and Marius bit his lower lip.  
  
Erik was silent, perhaps formulating a plan, and the genius that had whacked Marius and Christine with its Wooden Board O' Ideas That Backfire cackled to itself madly and frolicked off.  
  
The girl, who was murdering the song 'On My Own' by singing horribly in an off- key version of it that was no where near its original pitch, took off her Eponine hat and began whacking at the bush with it.  
  
Christine slowly scooted backwards, trying to get behind a tree, thankful that her dress was dark green. Marius crawled back to his original bush, and Erik and Eponine stayed put, barely even breathing.  
  
"Like, though I knooooooooow, that he's like... um... not seeing stuff! Still, I, like, saaaaaaaaay, there's like, a waaaaaaaaaaaaay for, like, us!"  
  
Eponine appeared rather shocked and annoyed that someone was destroying her lovely, angsty solo. Erik was fuming that the girl was even singing- she brought a bad name upon all those who even tried to carry a tune. Christine was wincing at the flats and sharps and vibrato in the song. Marius appeared to be praying for it to be over.  
  
"I loooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooo- hhhhhhhhhhoooooooooove him!" the girl screeched stridently.  
  
The characters could not help but scream in pain as their eardrums began to bleed.  
  
"Like, someone's there!" the girl stated happily. "You can like, come out now!"  
  
"Like, stop!" came a voice. Christine realized it was Erik pitching his voice over to a blond girl. She then realized that the girl was Philippe in a dress. Christine felt faint.  
  
"Hunh?" the girl asked.  
  
"Like, you're hurting our ear- drums, and we were like, going to use them, like later," Erik said, but managing to make it look like the Comte de Chagny was talking. Christine observed that a young- looking blonde woman was next to him, sporting various pieces of clothing advertising the musicals, 'Les Miserables' and 'The Phantom of the Opera', and a red- headed girl in jeans and a t-shirt ( that featured Erik's mask) was behind him.  
  
"Dieu," Marius murmured, eyes widening at the sight of the red- headed girl. "It's Valjean!"  
  
Erik was chuckling to himself in a maniacal manner and Eponine looked incredulous.  
  
"Valjean?" Christine murmured.  
  
"Er...." Philippe stammered, shooting a murderous glance into the copse of trees at Erik.  
  
"Like, why aren't, like, you guys, at like, the meeting?" the girl questioned, jamming her now raggedy Eponine hat on her head.  
  
"Why aren't you?" Valjean inquired politely.  
  
"Cause, like... hunh. I, like, dunno." The girl frowned. "Oh, yeah! Cause, I, like, forgot the password, and they, like, wouldn't let me in."  
  
"What a shame!" cried the blonde girl. "Was that because some of the older fans flamed your fan- fics, as you distorted the characters to your liking and made very stupid things happen to them?"  
  
The girl nodded. "Like, totally. I, like, thought it was funny, but those Mizzie fans are so, like, crazy about giving me helpfully long lists of things I could change to make the story better. They get, like, all shocked when I flame them back, 'cause they say they're only trying to help me become a better writer! Like, OMG! I am, like so a better writer then them! But they, like, changed the password from 'epopnine-y ann eric 4 eva'!"  
  
"Like, I know the password," Philippe squeaked nervously at a nudge from the old crone. "It's 'Let's all maim the innocent characters of Raoul and Christine!'"  
  
"Like, OMG!" the insane teeny- bopper fan squealed. "Why does it like, have proper grammar, punctuation and spelling?"  
  
"I'm sure that'll change soon," the blonde commented sardonically. "The non- teeny-bopper fans got the upper hand for about a half- hour, but the teeny- bopper's will be back with a vengeance soon."  
  
"Like. Like why don't you... like, come with me and I'll like, get you inside!" Erik called, while Philippe looked terrified at the thought of having to get the girl in. "I know how to spell it correctly!"  
  
Philippe and the girl walked off, after the blonde girl had hissed something into his ear. Philippe gave the blonde girl a frightened look but walked away anyways.  
  
"All right," the blonde girl called in a voice that was exactly like the Scarlet Pimpernel's, because the blonde was the Scarlet Pimpernel, "you four can come out, now."  
  
Christine nervously snuck out, aided by Marius, as her dress got caught on the bush. Christine rather hated the bush now.  
  
Eponine followed, brushing the dirt off of Marius's coat, which she was still wearing, and re-opening her umbrella. Erik swept out of the copse in a Phantom- like manner after adjusting his hat.  
  
"Such... interesting costumes," the Phantom remarked, eyeing Valjean's wig and the Scarlet Pimpernel's new mask.  
  
"We got them from R.A.O.U.L.," the Pimpernel explained. "That and a few other authoresses sympathetic to the cause."  
  
"R.A.O.U.L.?" Christine asked in slight confusion.  
  
"Rabid Admirers of Underrated Lovers," Valjean replied promptly. "We also got some things from a group of people who begged me for my autograph on their unabridged copies of 'Les Miserables'. It was a very strange experience."  
  
Marius looked rather amused. "I take it that the society of R.A.O.U.L. is a fan group for the Phantom of the Opera, in particular, Madame le Vicomtess's husband."  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel nodded. "Yes, though just about everyone seemed to love me, which I found somewhat odd. It was actually surprising how many authoresses support Cosette and Raoul."  
  
"Well, what's the plan?" the Phantom asked tersely, changing the subject out of annoyance at the acronym of the society and the look of love that shone in Christine's eyes.  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel nodded. "In a moment, my friend. Christine, do you have your famous red scarf?"  
  
Christine felt more confused then before, but pulled it out of her pocket. "Yes. I usually carry it around with me wherever I go."  
  
The Phantom gave a slight snort of annoyance, but said nothing.  
  
"May I see it?" the Scarlet Pimpernel questioned.  
  
Christine reluctantly handed it to him. The Scarlet Pimpernel draped it around Erik's neck. Erik looked very pleased. Christine felt rather annoyed.  
  
"Eponine still has Marius's jacket... so this should work out all right." The Scarlet Pimpernel grinned, and then motioned at them to move closer. "All right. Erik and Eponine will come in with me and Ultime. They will have to pretend that they are insanely happy and that Marius and Christine are madly in love with them. They will have to profusely thank the authors for giving them happy endings. While the authors swarm them, Ultime and I will head to floor 24,601 and, with the help of the bishop, get Cosette and Raoul out. Christine, we'll position you by that tree. If you see anyone coming towards the boat other then us, your duty is to make them fall unconscious by singing insanely high notes. Marius- you'll be by the main door. If anyone tries to stop us from getting out, please confuse them with as much lawyer-y gibberish as you can spout off as possible. When Ultime, the prisoners, and I get to the boat, I'll whistle. Erik and Eponine- that means you need to get out then come back to the boat. But please do not head straight to the boat and give away our hiding spot. Christine and Marius- wait where you are until Erik and Eponine have gotten away, and then come down to the boat. By that time, everyone, including Philippe, will be out of the castle, and we can head back to our respective time- lines. Got it?"  
  
They all nodded.  
  
"Good. Let's move." The Scarlet Pimpernel walked off, Eponine, Erik, and Valjean following. Marius gave Christine a nervous smile, and, after the four others had disappeared into the castle, Marius dashed after them. Christine moved quietly to the tree the Scarlet Pimpernel had pointed to and began counting off the minutes until she could see her husband again. 


	16. Chapter the Fifteenth

"Monsignor!" Cosette cried reverently. "What are you doing here?"  
  
The bishop looked rather proud of himself. "I'm helping in a rescue attempt."  
  
"A rescue attempt?" Raoul repeated, brightening. "People actually care about our characters?"  
  
The bishop smiled. "A few. I also managed to contact my friend Sir Percy, and he promised to help, too. So we will be breaking you out...." He trailed off as Raoul and Cosette stood hopefully at the door.  
  
"Uh- oh."  
  
"Uh- oh, what, monsignor?" Cosette questioned, wrapping her slender fingers around one of the bars in the window of the door.  
  
The bishop was standing behind the desk where Random Hate usually sat and was searching the drawers for the keys. He pulled out five key rings with ten keys on each one. None of them appeared to be labeled. How distressing.  
  
"Oh dear," the bishop mumbled. "There are five key rings with ten keys on each one and none of them appear to be labeled. How distressing."  
  
Raoul looked tempted to swear, but remembered that he was in the presence of a bishop and a lady and merely sighed in annoyance. Cosette gave a little cry and sank to the floor, relinquishing the bar on the window in the door. The bishop frowned, but grabbed all five key- rings and began trying each one in the lock.  
  
This took a long time, during which Raoul worked on the window again, and Cosette began examining all the tears in her dress.  
  
"Not it," the bishop muttered for the thirty- seventh time. "Let's try the next one."  
  
Raoul got slightly exasperated and said, "Monsignor, please move back from the door- I want to try something." With that he ran into the door. Strangely enough, it fell over.  
  
Cosette brushed out her skirt and attempted to straighten out her hair, but her neat bun had come undone so that curly tendrils of hair hung around her face. Straw was stuck in her hair as well. Raoul put a hand to his own head and removed a piece of straw. He sighed, but moved onto the more important business of making sure no one was watching them.  
  
He froze when he glanced at the door. Fop- Basher was leaning in the doorway.  
  
"Hello," she greeted them, showing all her teeth. "Making an escape, are we?"  
  
"It's really not so much of an escape," Cosette rationalized nervously, "as an attempt to break out from the confines society and malevolent authoresses have put us in, and return to our original, non- fop and non- ditz states of being."  
  
"Exactly," Raoul affirmed, hoping that the author would not notice that he and Cosette were not in their cell, the door to the aforementioned cell was on the ground, and that the bishop was holding all the key-rings from Random Hate's desk.  
  
"Un- hunh," Fop- Basher said skeptically, studying the shimmering, chipped red polish on her nails boredly. "And that would be why you two are not in your cell, the door to aforementioned cell is on the ground, and why the bishop is holding all the key- rings from Random Hate's desk?"  
  
Cosette flushed pale pink. "Exactly."  
  
"Right," Fop- Basher snapped, looking up with distaste. She pulled a gun from her pocket and Cosette's hands flew to her mouth. Raoul looked at the gun and tried to figure out how best to take it away from the authoress without anyone getting hurt. The bishop dropped the key rings to the ground.  
  
Fop- Basher grinned and pointed the gun at Cosette. "I don't know why I didn't do this in the first place. It's so much easier to get rid of you horrid characters by killing you off."  
  
Cosette slowly lowered her hands and pulled the cross she wore around her neck out from underneath her dress. Raoul pulled his rosary out of his pocket and slipped it around his head. The bishop pulled his own crucifix pendant out from underneath his cloak.  
  
"What's this?" Fop- Basher asked, looking annoyed yet incredulous. "Are you all Catholics?"  
  
Cosette shrugged delicately. "I was raised in a convent."  
  
Raoul fingered his rosary. "It's a well- known fact that I'm a practicing Catholic."  
  
"I'm a bishop," the bishop said in slight tones of amusement. "Besides- this is nineteenth century France. It would be hard for you to find someone who is not a Catholic."  
  
Fop- Basher growled in annoyance, and shot the bishop. The bishop of Digne fell over and hit his head on the floor. Cosette screamed and ran to him.  
  
Raoul ran towards the author, and with a flying leap, managed to knock over the authoress and wrestle the gun away from her. He stood, and with a shaking hand, pointed the gun at her. He didn't think he could fire at the moment, but it turned out he didn't have to worry about that.  
  
Someone snuck up behind Fop- Basher, and in a drawling, foppish, utterly British voice proclaimed, "I say!" With that, Fop- Basher was knocked out with a large brick and a blonde girl and a tall girl with a mask on her face stepped into the room.  
  
Raoul lowered the gun. "Ah... bonjour?"  
  
Cosette, by the bishop's side, looked up in confusion at the new arrivals. "Are you..?"  
  
The blonde shut the door quickly. Raoul couldn't tell if she had intentionally slammed the door on Fop- Basher's head or not. "Demmed nuisance, fop- bashers... oh, apologies, milord, milady. I am the Scarlet Pimpernel. I, and a host of others, have come to rescue you." The Scarlet Pimpernel pulled off his wig and mask, bowed to them elegantly, and put his mask and mask back on quickly.  
  
"Merci," Cosette murmured shakily, turning back to the bishop. The bishop began to stir, and Cosette gave a delightful laugh that broke the nervous silence.  
  
"He's alive!" Raoul exclaimed in relief.  
  
Cosette looked up happily, eyes dancing. "Yes... and look!" She held up the bishop's crucifix, which now had a bullet in its center. She smiled and helped prop the bishop up. "Jesus saves, non?" 


	17. Chapter the Sixteenth

"Quickly, now," the Scarlet Pimpernel muttered, carefully opening the door and peering out. "No one's in the halls, so as soon as you, my good fellow, recover, we should be off."  
  
The bishop smiled. "Of course."  
  
The tall girl looked at the bishop in shock. "Bishop Charles Myriel?"  
  
The bishop nodded and rubbed the back of his head. "I answer to that name. I am also known as Monsignor Charles- Francois- Bienvenu Myriel."  
  
The tall girl pulled off her wig and mask. "Monsignor, my name is Jean Valjean. I stole your silver from you."  
  
Cosette smiled brilliantly. "Papa!"  
  
"Did you use it to become an honest man?" the bishop half- sang.  
  
Valjean smiled. "Yes, monsignor. I became the mayor of a small town and brought it out of poverty... that is until Javert found out that I was an ex- convict and I had to leave the city, but then I took Cosette away from her abusive foster family and raised her, and I give alms to everyone I can."  
  
The bishop patted him on the head. "Good boy."  
  
Valjean smiled again, which was extremely rare for him. Imagine, two smiles in one day! "Thank you. It's all because of you."  
  
The bishop smiled. "Ah, my son- it's all because of God." All those present immediately crossed themselves like the good Catholics people tend to forget they are, though it was still unclear if the Scarlet Pimpernel was Protestant or not.  
  
"All right," the Scarlet Pimpernel murmured after the bishop had managed to catch his breath. "Here you two are." He pulled several items of clothing out of his cloak and handed them to them oft- tortured and ignored characters. Cosette, looking slightly puzzled, pulled on a 'Phantom of the Opera' jacket and adjusted an Eponine hat so that her blue eyes could not be seen.  
  
Raoul managed to hide his youthful good looks and bright blue eyes behind a Phantom mask, and pulled a Les Miserables sweatshirt over his stylish tuxedo.  
  
"You know," the Scarlet Pimpernel remarked as Cosette and Raoul pulled on their disguises, "most main characters in nineteenth century romantic novels have blue eyes, don't they? I do, my wife does, Cosette does, Raoul does, Christine does... oh well, we've more pressing matters at hand. Ready to go?"  
  
The bishop stood with the help of Valjean. Then he smiled and sang, "Onward, ho!" The Scarlet Pimpernel looked rather amused, but said nothing.  
  
Cosette, however, did. Say something, that is. "Monsieur! Fop- Basher's awakening."  
  
The aforementioned authoress moaned and sat up, clutching her head. "Ow. What's... going on?"  
  
Raoul glanced down at the gun and carefully aimed it so that Fop- Basher would think twice about making any sudden movements. Valjean removed his wig and mask and stood up straight, as did Sir Percy.  
  
"Well, you attempted to shoot the bishop of Digne," Cosette murmured, letting the bishop lean on her arm.  
  
"And I knocked you out," Sir Percy drawled, flicking a speck of dust off the sleeve of his costume. "Odd's fish, I do confess it was demmed bad form of me to do so, but you looked rather insane and were waving a gun about."  
  
"May I inquire as to why you attempted to kill of Cosette and myself?" Raoul asked, keeping the gun level.  
  
"Well... you both are fops!"  
  
Cosette frowned at her slightly and knelt beside the authoress, leaving the bishopt o stand on his own. "A fop is someone overtly preoccupied with clothing, and whose main ambition is to gain admiration by showy dress. Though I may enjoy wearing pretty things, I am not obsessed with them. My main ambition was to marry my husband, Marius, and to do whatever God wanted me to do."  
  
"And mine," Raoul added, with a small smile, "was to marry my wife, Christine, and, later, to save her. I might also add that in Leroux, he didn't say that I was a fop at all. I have to dress nicely as is required of a man of my rank, and, I might add, I do not seek to gain admiration for showy dress. It is what a person's soul is like that matters... not his clothes."  
  
Fop- Basher was silent a moment, startled by this revelation. "But does that mean that I have to write nice things about you two?"  
  
Cosette and Raoul exchanged amused glances, but it was the bishop that spoke next.  
  
"My child, you can write about anything you please. All we request is that you keep us in character and, perhaps, would write about some of us lesser known characters for a change. There are plenty in Hugo, and more then enough in Leroux!"  
  
Fop- Basher nodded, pulling off her Eponine hat and bowing her head. "I'm very sorry for trying to kill you, and I promise not to malign your characters any more. Forgive me?"  
  
Cosette smiled. "But of course."  
  
Raoul lowered the gun. "I forgive you as well. Just... please don't do it again."  
  
The authoress nodded. "All right. Hey! I'm inspired to write a fan fic where Sister Simplice meets Madame Giry and Erik at a fair. I think I'll go write it."  
  
Valjean looked a bit confused. "All right. Go do that." With that, Fop- Basher frolicked off to go type, and the other characters walked down a set of curving stone stairs.  
  
They reached the main hall, where there was a large swarm of teenaged girls around Erik and Eponine, who stood on a podium in the center of the hall. The Scarlet Pimpernel crept out first, reaching a large alcove a few feet away from the door. He motioned at the others to follow.  
  
Cosette, clutching the hat onto her head, dashed to the alcove, sticking close to the wall, was next, and was followed by the bishop of Digne and Raoul. Valjean followed last, but was the first one to get out the door, where he murmured something to someone.  
  
The bishop darted out next, and Raoul was preparing to run to the door when an authoress spotted him. It happened to be Random Hate.  
  
"What are you doing out?" she hissed, coming over to them. Cosette hid behind the Scarlet Pimpernel, pulling the cap lower over her eyes.  
  
Raoul attempted his best to speak in a British accent, as to throw off any suspicion. "I say, milady- have we met?"  
  
Raoul winced as he realized how noticeable his French accent was, even when he was trying to sound British. Behind him, he could hear the Scarlet Pimpernel slapping himself on the head.  
  
"Yes," Random Hate murmured, eyes narrowing.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Raoul could see the Scarlet Pimpernel making frantic motions at whoever was at the door.  
  
"Eh..." Raoul mumbled, wishing he was not so French.  
  
"Excuse me," a male voice called.  
  
"What?" Random Hate snapped softly.  
  
The man had curly black hair and was in his shirt sleeves. Cosette whispered, happily, "Marius!"  
  
"Excuse me, but I must inquire as to your policies on the treatment of prisoners," Marius continued on, with all the lawyer-y finesse he could summon. "It has come to my attention that you may not be following the laws on POWs outlined in Section 34,872,100 code F- 16 outlined in point H under the headline 'Herein Lie the Rules and Regulations for the Fair Treatment of Prisoners of War'...." Marius grabbed the girl by the arm and walked her towards the door. Once there, he stopped her and continued to babble on about loopholes and restrictions in the code and why and when they applied. Random Hate began to look dizzy from confusion. Raoul took that moment to pull the gun out of his pocket.  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel motioned at them to follow, and he dashed out the door, Cosette following, though she glanced longingly at her husband before leaving. Raoul noted that Cosette, as soon as she was out, yanked the hat off her hat and flung it to the ground.  
  
Raoul ran to the doorway, and hit Random Hate on the head with the gun. Random Hate, already near unconsciousness with all the strange terms Marius was throwing at her, fell to the floor with a thud.  
  
Marius smiled at Raoul and calmly walked out the door. "Thank you. Just follow the Pimpernel to that copse of trees over there, and we'll all be able to go home in just a few minutes."  
  
Raoul nodded and ran down into the copse as fast as possible, Marius having hidden himself behind the open door of the castle.  
  
Raoul darted into the darkness of the copse (after yanking off the mask- it gave him too many unpleasant memories), and suddenly felt someone's arms around him. He turned to see his wife beaming happily up at him.  
  
"Christine!" he whispered, hugging her tightly.  
  
"Oh, Raoul!" she murmured, burying her head in his chest. "I'm so glad you're all right!"  
  
Raoul kissed Christine very gently and tenderly, suddenly feeling very happy that the Phantom was back inside, where he couldn't interrupt them.  
  
At that moment, the Scarlet Pimpernel whistled loudly, and someone ran into the glade and crashed into Raoul, successfully managing to break up Raoul and Christine's kiss.  
  
The person- it was apparently female- was taller then Raoul and looked extremely tired. "The things I do for my brother," she muttered.  
  
Raoul realized it was his elder brother, Philippe.  
  
"Philippe!" he exclaimed, not letting go of Christine. "I thought you were dead!"  
  
Philippe pulled off his wig and threw it to the ground irritably. "That is the opinion of most people actually. I'm not, though."  
  
Raoul grinned and held Christine tighter to him. "It's great to see you."  
  
The Scarlet Pimpernel swore muffledly as he fell to the ground, having tripped over something. Cosette, looking puzzled, helped him up, and picked up one of the several Eponine hats that littered the ground in front of the Scarlet Pimpernel.  
  
"Oh," Christine murmured, eyes dancing in secret amusement, "those are the people who passed out after I sang the high E two octaves above middle C. I dragged them into the copse so no one would notice them. I hope you're not harmed."

* * *

_A/N: Okay... um... my chrous and I are leaving for approx. two weeks for London and Whales, and during that time, I will not have computer access. So, my deepest apologies, but I won't be able to post an update (or review any fic) until the eighth or nineth of August. Yes... heavy duty musical training and reeeaaaaally long plane flights await me. It'll be fun, though, and I'll post when I get back. _

_Vive le Vicomte and la Baronesse!_


	18. Chapter the Seventeenth

A/N: Much thanks to all the reviewers who wished me well in London and Whales! I had a fabulous time (thought we sang for about a week straight and now I have a cold and a sore throat).

Much thanks to the following people on my tour, though:

- That kid from the other choir, who, before we practiced staging a piece from Mozart's "Magic Flute", liked draping his choir robe over half his face and skulking around declaring that he was the Phantom of the Opera.

- My roommates, who were cool enough to know songs from both 'Les Mis' and PotO, and so sang them with me when we were supposed to be saving our voices for the concert.

- My tour group, who didn't get annoyed with me when I held them up at an underground station to take a picture of a PotO movie poster, and when I attempted to chase after a double- decker bus because it had a 'Les Mis' add on the back.

- A Welsh Lady who sat across from me in the plane, and who got into a discussion about 'The Scarlet Pimpernel' with me (I was reading it on the plane).

- The conductor who told me that I had found a marguerite daisy in the grass, and caused me to search the grounds of Cardiff for a scarlet pimpernel.

All right: to the fic.

* * *

Marius wished he could run down to the copse of trees as Raoul had, but he was stuck behind the door. And the teenage fan-fic writers were swarming out of it, trying to keep Eponine and Erik from going.

"So… merci again, and see you lot later," Eponine managed to say over the roar of the obsessive fan girls. "I sure hope the bogies- cops, I mean- don't get to you lot for… er…."

"Copy-right infringement," Erik supplied, trying to push the teenaged girls away from him.

"Yeah- that thing," Eponine agreed, trying to keep her recently trademarked hat from being snatched away by her large swarm of fans.

"Don't leave us Erik!" protested one fan girl earnestly, clutching at Erik's tuxedo.

Erik looked extremely uncomfortable. "Um… Mademoiselle, kindly release my vest."

She did, ecstatically screaming, "I touched Erik!" This caused a large group of fan girls to surge forward around Erik, attempting to rip off bits of his clothing for souvenirs. Erik looked panicked at all the attention. The last time people had swarmed around him, screaming, he had just killed someone and an angry mob was attempting to draw and quarter him.

Eponine looked more at ease, as she'd probably been involved with some angry mob or other more then once in her life. "Girls, give Erik some space! The Phantom of the Opera-"

She was drowned out by a fan girl who screamed, "Eponine! Cosette should've died instead of you! You're far too cool!"

"Um… merci?" Eponine replied, confused. "I actually went to the barricade because I thought Monsieur Marius was going to die, too, though…."

Erik appeared to be clutching a Punjab lasso with a startlingly tight grip as the mob of girls, no longer held off by Eponine threatened to close in on him. Eponine quickly realized this, and began beating off the horde of fan girls with her hat. Marius thought that he should probably begin yelling things pertaining to the law, but refrained, as Eponine seemed to be handling things quite well.

"Off, off, we need to go enjoy the happy endings you've made for us." The fan girls respectfully cleared a space, and Erik put away the Punjab lasso.

"So long!" Erik called, sweeping Eponine into his large billowy black cloak. With that, they vanished.

Marius became slightly confused. How did Erik do that? He carefully peaked under the door to see a trapdoor marked with 'Property of R.A.O.U.L.' shutting. '_Oh_,' he thought, observing it, '_that would be how they vanished. How did they know about it and why was it there, though? I guess it shall be another unexplained plot hole. Oh, well._'

The fan-girls, gossiping happily about the visit from Erik and Eponine, went back inside the castle, shutting the door behind them. Marius ran down towards the copse and hid behind a particularly tall tree. He glanced back at the castle to make sure no one had seen him, and was surprised when a very familiar someone flung their arms around his neck and murmured, "Marius!" in tones of great elation.

"Cosette!" he whispered, hugging her back tightly. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she murmured into his chest. "Oh, Marius! I'm so glad you're here! Though I'm not quite sure why we're still speaking in English."

Marius shrugged slightly, and then held her closer to him. "Don't seek to understand the plot holes, my darling. They never do get explained anyways."

Cosette looked up at Marius. "You are right. But look! We have a large amount of characters from all these different fan-doms. It's actually a bit off-putting. But, Marius, my dearest, Papa's apparently not dead." She pointed over to where Valjean was pulling off his wig and conversing with the bishop, who looked rather amused at the whole situation.

"Then there's the Scarlet Pimpernel- the bishop called him Sir Percy- and the Vicomte de Chagny, Raoul, and his wife, Christine, as is the Comte de Chagny, Philippe, and the Phantom of the Opera and… Eponine, I think, just popped up over there," Cosette continued, gesturing to the people she spoke of. "Eponine… it's a familiar name… oh! Eponine Thenardier. Why is she here, though?"

"She stalks me sometimes," Marius explained. "I think she was in love with me, but she didn't seem to understand that I loved you, darling." Marius gallantly kissed his wife's fingertips.

"Oh," Cosette remarked, with a happy smile. "It seems that there were only about twelve people in all of France, now, with all the coincidences and with all these random characters from different fan-doms meeting each other for no apparent reason."

"It is a bit startling," Marius agreed, "but this is fan- fiction, where one doesn't necessarily need reason and/or actual fact. Moreover, this is a humor fic, so anything weird can happen and be accepted as part of the humor. At least we're together now, and no one can force me to love Eponine again, when I love you."

Cosette blushed slightly, and then kissed him on the cheek.

Marius also blushed, but then bit his lip. "I can't help but feel our strange misadventure isn't over yet, my beloved."

Cosette's eyes widened. "It could be because of **that**, just behind you, dearest Marius." She pointed over his shoulder. Marius glanced back and felt a pang of dread.

Behind him was a veritable army of fan-girls, looking irate and carrying torches.

"That probably indicates that we're in for trouble," Cosette stated simply, dragging Marius further into the copse of trees, as some of the fan-girls attempted to block the angry mob's path.

"Um, Sir Percy?" Marius asked, lacing his fingers through Cosette's. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, but there is an army of irate- looking fan-girls carrying torches headed our way. Should we do something about that?"

"It does seem like an urgent situation," the Scarlet Pimpernel agreed. "But don't worry." He sat down on a log and began pulling off his disguise leisurely.

"Monsieur," Cosette protested, "we are about to be attacked by a legion of fanatical teen-aged girls who wish to kill the Vicomte de Changy and myself and wish to force our spouses into relationships with people they do not love. I think we should be at least a little bit concerned."

Valjean and the bishop, who were by Sir Percy, nodded their agreement.

"Ah," Sir Percy drawled, pulling a folded printout from a pocket in his costume. "But I have the author's plotline. I found it on a desk when Ulitme, Philippe, and I snuck in and requested a copy. The girl who had typed it up immediately printed my out a copy in return for my autograph. So according to this…." Sir Percy trailed off as he skimmed over the plot notes. "We are in no trouble at all. For if you will just look over there…." He pointed to the main entrance of the castle, where two men in uniforms were standing, a large number of armed policemen behind them.

"Inspector Javert!" Valjean and Marius exclaimed, in terror and bewilderment respectively.

"And my good friend Monsieur Chauvelin," Sir Percy added, tucking the paper back into his costume with amusement. "Just watch what happens now."

"I ORDER YOU TO STOP!" Javert bellowed, waving his nightstick.

The girls fell silent, though one or two of them called out, "I love you, Javert!" and another girl shouted, "Hi Chauvelin!"

Javert and Chauvelin ignored them.

"You are all under arrest for copy-right infringement," Chauvelin informed them, smiling thinly.

"And for mistreatment of prisoners of war, disturbing the peace, attempted murder, violation of rights, and tax evasion," Javert concluded, consulting his note-pad.

"Tax evasion?" most of the girls questioned.

"Copy-right infringement?" asked a particularly dense girl. Someone close to her whapped her on the head with an unabridged copy of 'Les Miserables'.

Chauvelin's thin smile grew. "Yes. It seems that none of you has a disclaimer."

"And," Javert added, taking out his silver snuff box, "you failed to complete Sector 24601, part ALW on your tax forms, or, in fact turn in your tax forms at all."

"But," protested one author, looking confused, "We gave it to one of the girls to mail in!"

The group of girls who had tried to stop the angry mob began snickering to themselves and waving about an un-mailed tax form.

"All of you are under arrest," Javert repeated, after he had taken a pinch of snuff. "Except for the informants, who, as soon as they figured out something illegal was going on, came to us, and agreed to be part of this sting operation. Citizen Chauvelin, care for some snuff?"

"Thank you, Inspector Javert," Chauvelin said, looking pleased and taking the snuff box. "Madame la Guillotine will not go hungry tonight! Round 'em up!"

The police officers arrested most of the girls, who were protesting loudly and talking about lawyers and their Miranda rights. Chauvelin was calmly inhaling snuff, and Javert was (scarily enough) smiling. The two famous antagonists threw the girls into the back of several wagons and walked off, discussing the finer points of being officers of the law.

The group of girls who had not been arrested cackled madly and burst into an elaborate song and dance number. Once they were finished, they frolicked off to look for cheap, sugary snacks. The characters in the copse stood in stunned amazement.

"Well," Erik stated, simply to be saying something.

"So," Valjean muttered, not able to think of anything else to say.

"That was… unexpected," Raoul added, blinking.

"I must agree," Marius added.

"I as well," Cosette agreed, pulling a piece of hay out of her hair in bewilderment.

"I fell stupid for ever having been in this fic," Christine muttered.

"This place makes my brain hurt," Philippe grumbled.

"Can we go home?" Eponine requested.

"Please," the bishop added politely.

"Just wait for one more plot twist," the Scarlet Pimpernel advised them, re-reading his copy of the plot notes. "If I am not mistaken, any second now…."

"Bonjour!" called a melodious voice from behind them.


	19. Chapter the Eighteenth

They turned to see a woman with golden- red hair standing in a large rowboat crewed by amused looking Englishmen.

"Hullo Marguerite, my dear!" Sir Percy called, pulling off the costume he had thrown over his almost entirely scarlet ensemble. "Fell through the time- space continuum?"

Marguerite was holding a little lap dog, which she scratched behind the ears. "Oui. Strangest thing, darling- you vanished, and Percy and I," here the dog gave a bark of recognition at his name, "were running all over the estate, looking for you. Next thing I know, I've fallen through the time-space continuum onto the 'Daydream'. The League members were already there, and we saw you on shore, so we decided to row over."

"That's remarkably convenient," Philippe remarked somewhat sardonically.

"It's a humor fic," Sir Percy replied.

"Well," Marguerite interjected with a sunny smile, "since we're all here, we've a convenient yacht, and there appears to be no other crucial plot points left to go over, do you just want to say that the fan- fic's nearly over and go back to the 'Daydream'?"

The characters from 'Les Miserables' and 'Phantom of the Opera' looked at each other in mild confusion.

"Might as well," the bishop murmured, pushing his hat up so he could scratch his forehead. "There doesn't seem to be any other sensible alternative."

"We might have to make a few trips," Marguerite murmured, blue eyes scanning the number of assembled fictional characters.

"Not necessary," Erik interjected coolly, pulling his boat out from underneath the pile of leaves he had hidden it under. "We can all manage to get to the yacht in about one trip. Once there, I'd like to consume massive quantities of alcohol until this strange rescue actually seems to make sense."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Philippe muttered, helping Erik push out the boat.

Somehow or another, they all managed to get on board the ship. Once there, Marius and Cosette took to standing on one side of the ship while holding each others' hands and staring into one another's eyes. They stood there, looking cute and silently daring any die-hard, fanatical Eppie/Marius shipper to try and separate them now.

Raoul and Christine had found a place to sit, and Christine was leaning against Raoul's chest, looking happy. Raoul looked equally pleased, and kissed Christine on the top of her head. The two were tempted to burst into song, but that would cause all the other happy couples to burst into their respective songs, and for Eponine and Erik (and quite possibly Valjean) to begin singing about how unhappy they were. So they didn't sing and merely sat together.

Percy and Marguerite were farther up on the deck conversing in quiet tones and playing with Percy the lap dog, who Sir Percy had named when he had been feeling particularly whimsical. Sir Percy had been feeling whimsical, not the dog, just to clarify. Every so often, Sir Percy or Lady Marguerite would trail off into silence and stare happily at the other. This happened in increasingly regular intervals, which annoyed anyone who was listening to their conversation.

Erik and Eponine, after moping over their misfortune at being the loser of the love triangle, were playing a game of chess, which became rather confusing, as Eponine didn't know how to play chess, and Erik was slightly sea-sick.

Valjean, Philippe and the bishop were attempting to help with the game of chess, and failing quite horribly, as Philippe had found a bottle of extremely strong brandy and was trying to see how drunk he could get before he landed. Philippe, as you had probably noticed, had not had a good day, and was desperately trying to forget it.

Also, Valjean and the bishop would get distracted about some arcane point in Biblical literature and begin discussing it in depth, thoroughly confusing everyone else who was around them, especially Philippe, who had become as drunk as Grantaire normally was.

The bishop suddenly raised a hand for silence, and everyone turned to look at him.

"Well, there are a few things I feel I must say," the bishop declared. "First off- someone should take the brandy from Philippe before he falls into a coma. Second- Can anyone figure out the moral of the story without me stating it?"

The other characters looked around in confusion.

"Never forget a disclaimer?" Christine guessed, thinking of the fan-girls being arrested.

"Well, that is important," the bishop agreed, "but no."

"Never give the Comte de Chagny alcohol when he's had a bad day," Sir Andrew Ffoulkes grunted, attempting to wrestle the brandy bottle away from Philippe.

"Another valid point, but no."

"Iz not a va... valid poin'," Philippe slurred, clutching the bottle of brandy to his chest possessively. "My brandy! Back off random English... Englishman!"

"How about the fact that my fan-girls are more powerful then anything but snuff-loving policemen?" Erik guessed, grinning. The yacht gave a lurch, and the feared Phantom of the Opera began to look more then slightly green.

"No," the bishop sighed. "But that probably is true, I'm sad to say."

"Always grab a copy of the author's plot notes?" Sir Percy drawled, polishing his gold eyeglass against his sleeve.

"No," the bishop repeated, beginning to feel more then a little annoyed, "though that definitely is useful."

"Copyright my hat and make a fortune off it?" Eponine guessed, attempting to make her king hop over a pawn.

"Again, no." The bishop sighed and rubbed his temples.

"If you write enough nonsensical things containing humorous incidences and oft repeated plotlines in your favorite fan-doms, you can call it a story and post it on the internet?" Philippe suggested, still trying to slap Sir Andrew away from the bottle of brandy.

"No, though you're remarkably lucid for someone who has finished off half a bottle of strong brandy."

"Always make sure you have filled out Section 24601 in your tax forms?" Marius guessed, still thinking along the lines of the law and things that could or could not be defended in court.

"Though it is imperative that you do so, no."

"Teenaged girls can be fooled into thinking I'm one of them if I wear a wig and a mask?" Valjean supplied tentatively.

"No, and that is a somewhat frightening point. Be glad that no one was around to take pictures. Any other guesses?"

"Even the most neglected characters have fan-girls that will sabotage the success of the other fan-girls who hate said neglected characters by failing to turn in tax forms and calling the police on their peers for copy-right infringement?" Raoul suggested, thinking of the group of fan-girls Christine had told him he had.

"Again, no!" the bishop nearly screamed.

The characters fell silent, thinking.

"Don't mess around with the facts actually set down in the original story you are attempting to write fan-fiction on?" Cosette guessed, smiling up at Marius.

"Exactly!" the bishop exclaimed, relieved that they had finally found the moral. "Also- please do not attempt to go against what the author of the work you are basing your story on has stated about his or her characters, plots, or situations. All together now!"

"PLEASE DO NOT FORCE US TO DO THINGS THAT GO AGAINST EVERYTHING IN THE ORIGIONAL WORK!" they all shouted.

"To clarify," Marius added, "do not make Cosette and I hate each other, or make me fall in love with Eponine or anyone else, for that matter. I'm very happy with my wife and I love her very much."

Cosette blushed slightly. "And I love Marius, so please do not make me fall in love with anyone but him. Or turn me into a ditz, and him into an idiot. We are not. Also, do not force Eponine and I to hate one another- in the convent, I forgave her of all she did to me in my past, and now she is part of the repressed memories of my childhood. It's perfectly all right if you like writing stories about Eponine's love for my Marius, but having her obtain my husband's love destroys the appeal of her character."

"Also," Christine interjected, "do not make me hate Raoul-"

"Or turn me into a fop," Raoul added. "There's no actual evidence for that anywhere in Leroux's book, as has been stated before. And in the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, I am also not a fop. It really all depends on the skill of the actor portraying me."

"And please don't force Erik to keep me in his underground lair," Christine continued, lacing her fingers through Raoul's. "That mutilates his tragic character, as well as the moral of the story. I must also insist that you do not force Raoul to become abusive towards me. I assure you, we love each other every much, and Raoul does not act like that. It's fine if you enjoy writing about Erik's love for me, but him obtaining my love really destroys the moral of the story and his character."

"Did you notice how in most nineteenth century novels, the main characters always end up marrying their one true love?" Marguerite remarked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Please remember that when you write fan-fiction, m'dears," Sir Percy drawled, with a gentle, loving smile at his wife. "None of us are very likely to want to kill our spouses or intentionally hurt them in any way, shape or form." Marguerite's lap dog barked in agreement and Marguerite smiled.

"I think we all learned an important lesson," the bishop concluded.

"Indeed," grunted Sir Andrew, as Philippe managed to whack him in the eye with Eponine's left castle. "I should hide all alcohol on board this ship."

"I learned how to play chess!" Eponine volunteered, galloping her knight around the board randomly.

"I'm going to be sick," Erik mumbled as he dashed over to the railing of the ship.

"That's not a lesson," Eponine objected.

"That was more of an unneeded comment," Sir Percy remarked dryly. "Thank you for sharing, dear Phantom. Sir Andrew- there's some Dramamine in my cabin if you're not too busy with the Comte de Chagny."

"Sorry, Percy," Sir Andrew managed to gasp out as Philippe began hitting him with the brandy bottle. "I'm a bit busy."

"Do you want some help?" Raoul wanted to know, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Christine's.

"I'm... okay," Sir Andrew replied breathlessly as he attempted to pinion the far from sober Comte de Chagny to the deck.

"Shush everyone," Marguerite admonished. "We're near the resolution; let the bishop have his ending line."

The bishop cleared his throat importantly and straightened out his worn cassock. He turned to the assembled characters with a smile and declared, "Now let's all forgive the other authors for changing our stories, as, hopefully, they now know better. God bless you all!"

With that the Daydream sailed off into the sunset, where there were clouds that formed the words:

THE END

against the setting sun, simply because the author cannot think of a more creative way to end this fan-fic.


End file.
